


Heartsound

by cosmicruin



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Fantasy, Little Mermaid Elements, M/M, Sirens, fairy tale fusion, siren as in merman not tweety the murderous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:55:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 40,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27656474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicruin/pseuds/cosmicruin
Summary: Jongin’s solitary life at sea changes after a happenstance meeting with a fisherman.
Relationships: Kim Jongin | Kai/Oh Sehun
Comments: 15
Kudos: 75
Collections: EXO MONSTERFEST 2020





	Heartsound

**Author's Note:**

> Written for **EXO MONSTERFEST Round 2020** , **Prompt T94**. Prompt goes as follows:
> 
> _Once a haughty prince obsessed with popularity and beauty, Jongin was cursed by a witch and turned into a siren whose voice could never be heard by any soul. Lost in an eternal life of loneliness, Jongin is shocked one day when a small town fisherman is able to hear his voice._
> 
> Dear prompter, I wrote this last year but couldn't make it within posting period for a few reasons so this is my Redemption Arc™. I don't know if you remember this prompt, if you are still in fandom, or if the ship I chose is one you favor (you did say Kai/Any), but I will say two things. 1) I am here to pay my dues; and 2) thank you for the challenge that is your prompt. Enjoy!
> 
> My immense gratitude to the mods who have been very patient and lenient with me throughout. Your kindness and understanding has been really helpful to me, thank you for running this fest!
> 
>  **Warning [important! do not skip!]:** There's implied cannibalism scattered throughout the fic but Jongin and Sehun are not the cannibals.
> 
>  **Original post date:** November 21, 2020  
>  **Original reveal date:** November 24, 2020

Like most fairy tales spread wide across the land, this story started in a kingdom by the sea.

In a towering white castle on a cliff lived a prince. The prince was bestowed with a beauty unrivaled it made the flowers blush on his midday stroll at the gardens; stopped people in their tracks and tasks, and struck them straight to their hearts with a single glance. His very existence inspired ballads and poems, served as muse for painters; professions of adoration and admiration reflected in their words, their portraits.

Tales of the prince’s lovely face and darling personality extended beyond the kingdom’s borders, acquiring him suitors from every corner of the land. So famous did the prince become his reputation reached unimaginable territory. The news incited intrigue and skepticism among its inhabitants. Surely no land dweller could rival the ethereal beauty of the undersea folk? Many talked about this human for days; none dared to venture and verify the information themselves.

One undersea folk’s curiosity piqued and, eventually, swam out from the deepest depths of the sea to check if any truth existed in the claims and hearsay. Breaking the surface on sunrise, the siren immediately saw the prince. His pants were folded up to his knees, feet submerged in the overlap. The prince was taking his morning walk along the shore, oblivious to the eyes of the curious siren following his movements. The siren was not disappointed by what he saw. Truly the prince was beauty personified, as if every god and goddess gathered together to create the most perfect human being to grace the land.

The siren could not forget about the prince and spent many days thereafter admiring him from afar. The siren could not deny he lost his heart to the prince and wished to know more about him. He willingly changed his precious tail for a pair of legs. He boldly revealed himself to the prince for the first time in his newly-acquired human form on his morning walk. The prince, though taken by surprise, did not turn him away; did not run away. The prince, with a sweet smile and a sweeter voice, asked for his name, where he came from.

Alas, the siren could not speak, for the price he paid to transform his tail into legs was his voice. The siren sorted to body language, flailing his hands to convey his answer. The prince must have understood right away he could not talk and invited him to his castle for a warm meal; a place to stay, if he did not have one.

Days passed quickly, and friendship blossomed between the siren and the prince. They spent every free moment together. The siren saw many sights and learned many things about the humans and their world. His affection for the prince grew the longer he stayed, but his time on land was running short, too. By the next full moon, on the rise of the tides, the siren shall return to his true form. Should the prince reject his true self, he would join the other sirens before who met untimely demises. If accepted, and his feelings returned, he would stay human and spend an eternity with the prince.

On the peak of the silver moon, the siren lured the prince out to the shore, telling him to watch closely. When the first moonbeam touched his feet, the transformation was instant. Scales covered the skin of his calves, legs fusing together and encased in a shiny black tail.

The prince screamed. He trembled, though it was hard to tell if it was from the cold or revulsion.

The siren did not take the prince’s reaction well. In his eyes he saw fear and accepted this as answer to his confession. The siren cried, immensely heartbroken, hopes of a happy ending now far from his reach.

A thunderstorm brewed, unleashing torrents of rain. Recovering from his shock, the prince hastened back to his castle without looking back, abandoning the weeping siren on the shore. Completely soused upon his return, it did not take long before a knock on the castle doors followed. Wary of who it might be at this late hour, especially after what transpired, the prince opened the door with plenty of cautiousness.

Behind the door was an old woman with a wizened face, wispy strands of snow-white hair peeking under her hood, and bony hands. Her back was hunched, and her thin frame was shaking beneath her ratty cloak and threadbare dress. She, too, was doused from the storm raging outside and kindly requested shelter for the night.

The prince did not deign her with an immediate response.

Perhaps impatient with his silence, the old woman told him in a knowing tone:

“I know of what you have done.”

Stunned, the prince accused her of deception, being allies with the siren. Warned her that if she was one of them, she should take her leave right this instant. He’d already been fooled once; he wouldn’t allow a second time.

Unimpressed, the old woman narrowed her eyes at the distressed prince. An aura of blue emanated from her frail form with each determined step forward. The prince retreated one step back as the old woman advanced on him. He let out a horrified scream, hoping against hope any of the hired help would hear. The sound echoed in the hall, and then it was abruptly cut off.

From that night onward, no one saw the prince again.

☆彡

And yet… was that what truly happened?

☆彡

Today’s food item was honey cake.

Jongin grinned as he peeled off the paper in a hurry, revealing a soft, golden brown pastry. Its sweet aroma reminded him of the slow, autumn afternoons he’d sneak into the kitchens to steal one behind the baker’s back. The heat would seep through the fabric of his tunic, warming his fingertips until he was in the safety of the gardens to enjoy the cake alone. Later, the baker would know of his stunt when he reappeared in the kitchens, either from the stray crumbs dusting the corner of Jongin’s mouth or the front of his tunic. Jongin would only need to pout, say he had been hungry, and the baker would let him off.

Jongin reminisced on those good times with each dainty bite, savoring its rich taste. His stomach was doing happy somersaults. Rare were the days for him to eat honey cake in recent times.

Rarer, still, for a siren like him to steal human food in recent times.

Instances of food left behind were few and far between. Humans seldom ventured to this side of the town, where the abandoned castle stood on the cliff. Its foreboding presence looming from a distance warded off townspeople and travelers alike; became the source and inspiration of bizarre tales and bedtime stories for spooky nights. Only children dared wander here, though they did not stay past sundown. From overheard conversations Jongin pieced together, the children often slipped away unnoticed by their parents a little past noon in order to come here. They laughed at their parents’ warnings of staying away behind their backs; called them ridiculous for believing they would buy ghost stories at their age.

The children played with abandon, without adult supervision, happy shrieks and laughter an expected symphony interspersed with the sound of waves. They brought food with them for when they were famished after long hours of games. A lot of the time, the food stayed forgotten on the rocks after a quick bout of playing house. In their hurry to start off a new game, they failed to check the food was positioned on uneven surfaces, causing it to slip down the side of the rocks unnoticed.

And Jongin would be there to catch the falling food before it touched the water.

He didn’t count on this becoming a habit; a regular occurrence. The first time it happened, one of the children had dropped a tart in the water by accident. Jongin had happened to be nearby, completely concealing himself from plain sight behind a rock taller than the rest and a safe, hefty distance from where the children played. He had heard the unmistakable sound of a splash, investigated, surfaced with a soggy, half-bitten tart in hand and the children retreating following a futile search. The seawater hadn’t completely ruined the tart, allowing Jongin to enjoy the unexpected treat.

Small cakes, bread baked from flour or rye, preserved fruits—Jongin built a steady diet from the lost food acquisitions after the first accident. The honey cake he recently polished off made him wish for something savory, like roasted chicken and thick soup; remembered, with a little sadness, a past in which he never had to want. Licking his fingers clean of crumbs, Jongin lamented devouring the honey cake too fast. Among the food items that wound up in his hands, this was rarest of the rare—a delicacy, almost.

The following day, Jongin waited in his usual hiding spot for the children to inevitably drop their food. Sunset approached, the children called each other to head home, and Jongin was out of luck.

Except he spotted two slices of honey cake standing untouched and forgotten on the rocks.

Although surprised and hungry, Jongin waited a little more for the sun to disappear from the sky before taking them.

Subsequent days witnessed a slight change. The children no longer left their food on top of the rocks. Once the sky started growing red from the sunset, they would dash off without taking the honey cakes. They raced each other to the rocks on their return the next day, gasping and shouting excitedly about the cakes’ disappearance. Jongin listened to their guessing games. Most were convinced of a ghost taking them. (Jongin furrowed his brows.) Some were confident it was a sea monster. (Jongin frowned.) The smallest among the children looked out into the water, asking in an innocent voice if it could possibly be—

“ _Sirens?_ Ridiculous! Sirens don’t eat cakes,” one of the older children argued.

“That’s right!” another piped up. “Human souls are tastier to them. Grandmama told me so.”

“Uncle told me if sirens are truly famished, they would feast on human flesh and hearts,” a third added. “They’re responsible for our missing fishermen and travelers from far away.”

A chorus of scared gasps. Bickering commenced and ended when a playmate called them over to look at their decorated sand castle, taking with them their enthusiastic talk about scary, coldhearted sirens. Jongin strained his ears to follow the conversation; caught fragments, disappointment heightening.

Come sundown, perched on the rock beside the one he used as a hiding place, Jongin stared forlornly at the honey cakes in his hands, appetite gone from remembering the children’s judgmental words. He broke the cakes into smaller pieces and offered them to a cast of crabs passing on the shore about to dive into the water.

Two days without children and honey cakes passed. Two days Jongin stuck to his learned diet of edible sea plants and vegetables, and for gloominess to fade.

Rays from the early morning sun welcomed Jongin upon his emergence from the waters on the third day. Swimming closer to the shore, he stopped right away at a most unusual sight. A folded cloth was spread out on a flat rock situated on the shallower part of the water. Honey cakes, golden and steaming fresh, stood inconspicuously on the cloth. A food item he missed, though it shouldn’t have appeared until past noon.

Suspicion rising, Jongin surveyed the area, alert and cautious. No children in sight. The honey cakes stood harmless and tempting—an open invitation for Jongin to steal, regardless of who might have left them.

And Jongin dared. Many mornings afterward, too. Wariness was never far each time he took the cakes; unease its other companion, suspecting he was being watched. Trifled with. Did the children start gaining awareness they had never been alone on those afternoons spent playing?

Yet as mornings without incident increased, Jongin’s skepticism gradually waned. Today bore no difference: Jongin swam to the flat rock, honey cakes ready for his claiming. He shook away the water from a hand and reached for one.

“You?”

Panic slammed into Jongin’s chest. Abandoning the cakes, he dove underwater and didn’t stop swimming until he was behind the safety of his rock. He counted ten heartbeats before chancing a peek.

A tall, willowy figure. Young, from what Jongin could make out of his features, though the sun’s brightness made it impossible to ascertain. The figure approached the flat rock. Jongin confirmed the newcomer was a man first; the dark hair second. The man’s attention was fixed on the floating honey cake, then proceeded to walk back and forth on the shore, as if in search of something. Someone. Jongin concealed himself from view when the man’s head turned to his general direction. Counted another ten heartbeats before peeking again.

The cakes were gone. So was the man.

Relief flooded Jongin, but disappointment trailed after fast. The faint scent of honey cake stuck to his now-wet fingers—a reminder of his earlier blunder—and one that lingered for a good part of the day as he foraged for sustenance elsewhere. For a good part of the day, he also pondered the man and his motives. If the honey cakes belonged to him. If Jongin had been stealing those from him since the children stopped coming.

Yesterday’s incident should have been a lesson on cautiousness, but Jongin had questions he wanted answered. Instead of swimming straight to his usual destination, Jongin went to his trusted rock and swept the shore with a careful gaze first. Like mornings past, the cloth and honey cakes waited for him on the flat rock. Another careful gaze, another deep breath for courage as Jongin took a gamble and swam closer. He reached for a honey cake. His stomach growled in approval.

“You’re the thief?”

The man from yesterday, standing on top of the rocks. He sounded neither angry nor irate; did not look the part, either. He looked harmless; lacked ill will. It did not mean Jongin would lower his guard, or take things at face value. He did that once, and was repaid betrayal.

Survival instinct took over. Jongin hastened his retreat to the water. He thought he heard the man’s frantic calls for him to wait but couldn’t be sure—the ginormous splash he left in his wake had garbled the sound. Underwater, Jongin swam close to the rocks, staying submerged deep enough for his safety. He was unsure what compelled him to stay; he should start swimming far, far away. Delicious as they were, the honey cakes were not a justifiable enough reason to invite trouble to himself.

Above, the man was peering into the water. He craned his neck, head moving to and fro in probable search for Jongin. Siren hearing aided Jongin in catching the man’s innocent (and sincere-sounding) ramblings:

“Hello? Is anyone down there? If you’re listening to me, please come back. I mean no harm in my advances.”

“You can have the honey cakes. I’m so foolish—I should’ve told you from the start.”

“If the honey cakes are your sole purpose for coming here, I shall leave them on the rock for your taking. It’s not a trick to lure you into a trap, I promise.”

Jongin counted ten heartbeats.

The man did not leave—waiting, watching.

Jongin counted ten more for good measure, braced himself, returned to the surface. Half of his head emerged from the water—he was not ready or willing to reveal more than that.

The man must not have expected this result in the way his eyes widened and jaw slackened. He nearly slipped on his way down from the rock; nearly stumbled on the shore in his rush to draw close for a better look.

Jongin waded until he was close enough, but also ensured his tail remained hidden from view. The cloth’s corners were soaked in seawater; the honey cakes enticing with their soft, golden hue.

“I meant what I said,” the man said, eyes on Jongin. He gestured to the cakes. “You can take them.” He must’ve sensed Jongin’s hesitation, for he added, “They’re not poisoned. I guarantee you they’re safe to eat.”

Jongin inched back when the man strode forward; warily watched him wrap the cloth around the cakes. Snatching the cloth from the man’s grasp forced him to rise higher above the water, revealing his torso as he cradled the bundle close to his chest, hair sticking to his back. Jongin made conscious effort not to expose his lower half and keep the cloth away from the water.

The young man listed his head—a peculiar response. “This isn’t the first time you’ve stolen food, have you?”

Jongin narrowed his eyes; clutched the bundle tighter.

“Children who come here to play have told me their food tend to go missing,” the young man continued, unfazed by Jongin’s reaction. “Missing food does not instantaneously disappear into thin air. Some would float first before sinking. The children suspected a thief lurking in the rocks. I assumed the thief might be one of the juvenile pranksters with too much time on their hands. Everybody in town knows each other, so I was expecting a familiar face.” A slight, loaded pause. “You… do not look to be among us.”

 _You do not look human_ was the unvoiced implication, ringing loud and clear. Jongin understood it at once. He nodded to acknowledge what the man said. However the man interpreted it was up to him.

Despite the bold claim, the man’s face showed a disconcerting absence of fear; did not move away from where he stood ankle-deep in the water. “You must have your reasons for stealing. I shan’t hold it against you. Your secret is safe with me.” His voice matched the friendliness of his smile.

Sincerity was a difficult thing to fake. Jongin did not think the man was faking his.

But a guileless smile was not enough for him to trust so blindly again.

☆彡

The moment between retreating darkness and first light was most ideal for a swim. Jongin delighted having the tranquil waters to himself, not sharing it with the humans above or the sea creatures below. The perfect chance for him to roam as he pleased in the waters without fearing for his safety; to revel in the sun’s slow ascension on the horizon and bask in its warmth from where he reclined on the rocks without worrying about sightings.

Most mornings it was the seagulls’ squawkings disturbing Jongin’s tranquility on the shore. This he did not mind. Some mornings it was the tiny boats and wide-meshed nets fishermen cast on the water’s glittering surface. This Jongin avoided at all costs.

Seafaring was one of the kingdom’s main means of livelihood. Growing up, Jongin had seen ships docking at their ports and departing after business was finished. Fishing was a common occupation among the masses, so scattered boats and large nets were not odd sights. Jongin took great precaution steering clear from both on his morning swims. Only disaster awaited him should he swim right into a net.

A long time spent at sea taught him marine life bore intelligence far exceeding humans’. Jongin witnessed schools of fish smartly avoiding fishing spots, forcing fishermen to pull up empty nets and returning to land with dejected faces. He could’ve found this amusing if he didn’t accidentally overhear the fishermen worrying about where to get coin for tonight’s dinner, paying off debts, a better cot for a newborn baby. Sympathetic with their situation, Jongin started luring fishes to the nets on purpose. What he lacked in the gift of song he made up for body language and facial expressions; on rare occasions, channeling honeyed words through the telepathic link he shared with aquatic creatures.

The fishermen started hauling nets brimmed full with fish, to their utmost surprise; relief, mostly, that the catch would sustain them for days. Every time, Jongin would send a prayer of apology to whichever sea deity was listening, asking forgiveness for enticing unsuspecting fishes to untimely ends. Choosing between two kinds of lives would never not be burdensome, so Jongin steeled himself during decision-making in his refusal for innocent, hardworking fishermen to starve, families included.

Like countless mornings before this, Jongin was relishing his early swim when the unmistakable splash of falling nets reached his ears. He ducked from view and swam close, keeping a great distance away from the nets. He counted three boats, identical in shape and color. The closest boat to him he recognized right away from its fading white color underneath. This boat was manned by an elderly fisherman, whose gaunt, tired face contrasted the liveliness of his voice. Thinning gray hair revealed his age; gnarly hands told years of tenuous labor. Jongin had seen this man several times in the past; remembered his complaints of joint and back pain to fellow fishermen some days ago. He took it as a personal aim to always help this fisherman after a rough wave near toppled his boat and lost his catch in exchange for choosing personal safety.

Luring a generous amount of fish to the nets, Jongin tugged at the ropes. He waited for the old man above to drag up the nets, then swim away lest he was seen. This was how they worked, though the old man remained oblivious to his little helper, and Jongin wished it to stay that way.

It worked right now, too, except Jongin didn’t swim away fast enough. First his tail was caught, then his entire body. Jongin’s pulse pounded in his ears at a deafening tempo as the net was yanked up in one rapid movement. Barely cushioned by the slippery, jumping fish, he landed onto a hard, solid surface, lungs burning a little from the sudden inhalation of air. Desperate, Jongin struggled for freedom but merely entangled himself more in the netting. Panic addled his mind; hands shaky in their purpose.

The net was lifted from his body with ease, released fish scattering and jumping around him.

The man with dark hair stood in front of him, wide-eyed and holding the net. His gaze was first fixed on Jongin’s face then traveled south, expression of shock unfurling as it stopped at—

“ _A tail?_ ” the man blurted out in disbelief.

Shouts from afar interrupted the moment. Heart leaping in his chest, Jongin hurried to retreat into the waters, but he glimpsed the boats sailing closer in a speed too fast for his liking. Diving would result in a splash and reveal his existence. Staying stationary wasn’t any better an option. Either way, he was doomed.

Sudden darkness enveloped him, heightening his panic, but calmed upon realizing a sheet had been thrown over his entire form.

“Keep quiet and don’t make any movements,” he heard the man whisper.

Jongin frowned, about to take off the sheet, but froze upon hearing a new voice.

“Quite the catch you’ve got today, Sehun!”

The man—Sehun—gave a shy laugh. “It’s an alright amount. Grandpa would’ve caught more if he was here. He’s a better fisherman than me.”

Another voice hooted, as if not buying Sehun’s show of modesty. “Now, lad, stop thinking lowly of your fishing skills! You sounded just like your old man in his youth. Man says he’s caught less than all of us combined but raked in the most profit. A little more experience and you’ll be the best fisherman this town has seen!”

More shy laughter from Sehun; more chatting with the fishermen. Beneath the sheet, Jongin wondered, with a smidge of impatience, how long he’d have to endure holding his breath. Wondered how long he’d have to endure staying still, in spite of the wet fish slapping him across the face with their fins and tails and bodies.

Jongin was finally granted mercy when the fishermen bade farewell and he could no longer sense the presence of their boats. The sheet was lifted. Jongin squinted against the sudden brightness from the sun’s rays. Shading his eyes with one hand, his vision focused on Sehun’s apologetic face.

“Are you alright? I apologize for that. I didn’t want them to see what else I caught aside from the fish.”

_“I’m fine.”_

Jongin opened his mouth to repeat the thought; shook his head at Sehun’s puzzled look. Shook his head once more to convey he didn’t mind. Sehun’s behavior confused him. Humanity as a whole feared sirens for the power they held; the tricks they played. Fishermen, most of all, did not take kindly to them. They renounced sirens for enchanting humans with song or deceiving them with their bewitching beauty—ploys to beckon them to unpredicted doom, either by drowning or a more unspeakable demise.

Sehun’s gaze dropped to Jongin’s tail once more. Jongin waited for that glint of malice or revulsion to appear in his eyes in vain. Those emotions didn’t reflect in his voice, either, when he spoke. “On our first meeting, I had a hunch you were not exactly… human. I’m surprised I was right. Guessing right is not my forte.” He cast Jongin a sheepish smile; wore a thoughtful expression after. “You’re not very talkative, are you? It’s alright. How did you get caught in my net? Were you trying to rescue the fish?”

Jongin shook his head as he rose to sit up, conflicted about this show of amiability; the lack of agitation.

“A siren… Who would have expected?” Sehun sounded awestruck. “Tales of your kind run rampant among the townspeople. Your existence has always been disputed, but your reputation is not the most stellar among the majority. Never in my wildest dreams I’d meet one—have been interacting with one for a while, now.”

Jongin commiserated. As much fascination he harbored for fairy tales, he didn’t believe sirens were real. Not until he was proven wrong. Not until…

Sehun gathered his catch and tossed them into a large vat at one end of the boat. His shirt was soaked with seawater and smelled of fish and salt. He wiped his brow with the towel slung across his neck. “You must want to swim back home. Now’s the best time—all the fishing boats have returned. My lips are sealed about what transpired here.” Then, as if a thought struck him, he added, “I have no honey cake to offer you. I shall leave some on the flat rock later today, as always.”

Jongin had no way to ascertain whether Sehun would keep his word or not. But Sehun hadn’t given him any reason to doubt or fear, so far. He could sense the honesty, and he could take a gamble by toning down his mistrust. He simply wanted to keep himself safe, unlike the first time that plunged him headfirst into the biggest predicament of his life.

Sehun offered him assistance to get off the boat. Jongin waved him off and did it himself, albeit clumsily. He sighed at once from the instant relief of seawater soothing his drying skin and scales. Nothing stopped him from swimming away, but he couldn’t resist looking back. Sehun was watching him, the sea breeze tousling his hair.

 _“Leave. You mustn’t rouse suspicion by staying too long out at sea,”_ Jongin wished he could tell him, though the words stayed confined in his mind.

Jongin wondered about the slightest furrow of Sehun’s brows; the appearance of combined confusion and surprise on his face. Wondered why Sehun stayed longer than desired before steering the boat back to shore and shaking his head. Wondered why he couldn’t take his mind off Sehun’s reaction, and if it meant anything significant.

☆彡

If the waters were too cold for his liking, tail becoming sore from swimming, Jongin sought the sun-warmed shore to rest.

He chose his lounging spots carefully; only risked it when no humans were abound. One location he favored above others was close to the abandoned castle, which was marginally farther from the rocks where the children played and honey cakes deposited. Here, the castle loomed larger, more ominous. Here, Jongin found warmth and safety, for the townspeople never dared to venture this far, coming to a collective agreement the castle and everything within a mile radius was off-limits. Here, Jongin could sprawl under the sun as he liked, roll around or nap on the sand with nary a single worry of his lower half being seen.

Today, Jongin sat and basked in the deliciously warm sun at the water’s edge. From how high the sun hung in the sky, he estimated it to be around noontime. The fishermen would be busy trying to sell their catch at this hour, if not sitting for lunch with their families, or working other odd jobs. His mind strayed to Sehun, wondering if he was eating right now with the grandfather he mentioned; if he was selling off the last of his catch. This morning, under the water, Jongin saw Sehun manning the white and red boat, but he left right away after accomplishing his task. Whether or not Sehun knew what he’d done remained a thing of mystery, though Jongin was not too eager to find the answer.

“There you are.”

Jongin jolted in shock, whipping his head around. Sehun stood ten paces away, the surprise on his face giving way to a friendly smile. He wore a white linen shirt with sleeves and dark trousers, and had a burlap sack slung over his shoulder. Jongin watched him stride over, wary but curious. Sehun sat an arm’s length away and rummaged through his sack. He took out a simple, square-shaped container. Honey cakes came into view after he lifted the lid, its sweet, rich aroma instantly reaching Jongin’s nose.

“I had a feeling you’d be somewhere around here. How fortunate I didn’t leave the honey cakes on the rock. Oh, you look like you have some questions. I know these parts from bold wanderings I’ve pursued in the years past. Men my age are not as adventurous. Cowards, the lot of them.” Sehun shook his head and smiled, handing Jongin the container. “This is yours. Take it.”

Jongin readily accepted the container. Sehun took out another from the sack. It contained a modest lunch of assorted vegetables, eggs, and a loaf of bread.

_“His lunch is lacking meat. Is he…?”_

“Times are hard. Meat is costly. The coin I earn from selling the vats of fish still cannot afford me the best parts.”

The honey cake slowly slipped from Jongin’s grasp at the same time his mouth opened in surprise. Sehun blinked at him while chewing his vegetables with a blank face.

 _“This can’t be. He couldn’t have possibly heard me.”_ Jongin shook his head to further convince himself, picking up the fallen cake.

“I wouldn’t easily rule out that possibility.”

Jongin dropped the pastry a second time in heightening incredulity, fingers sticky with cake crumbs and eyes widened.

Sehun, perfectly unfazed, continued eating the last of his vegetables without breaking eye contact. His gaze contained a challenge to contest what he just said. Done.

 _“Does he really…? No. Impossible.”_ Yet deep inside, Jongin wanted to believe the opposite. _“If… if you can really hear me, nod your head once. I want to know for sure I’m not hallucinating.”_

Sehun raised an eyebrow. Nodded once.

A shiver of hot-cold panic slithered through Jongin.

“I know not why you continue clinging to your disbelief. Yes, I can hear you. Kindly stop looking at me like I’ve grown a second head,” Sehun gently scolded, expression torn between amusement and exasperation.

Relieved, encouraged, but remaining cautious, Jongin revealed the reason behind his actions. _“I don’t understand how you can hear me. You, a mere human? Many before you have shown no indication they could hear me.”_ His eyes narrowed. _“Do you engage in sorcery?”_

Sehun shrugged. That wasn’t an acceptable answer to Jongin, but the most he could do to show his displeasure was frowning. “I heard your voice in my head for the first time when you got caught in my net. I assumed it was _you_ who enchanted me by casting aural hallucinations. I worried I might be done for; turns out I can just hear you.”

_“Your answers are not very satisfactory.”_

“Take it or leave it,” Sehun said. He consumed an egg before speaking again. “Conversing this way is so odd. You respond to me yet your mouth isn’t moving. Your voice rings in my head, but it has no power over me.”

Jongin bit into a honey cake, frustrated. _“Perhaps you are keeping something from me.”_

“Perhaps I was merely born lucky.” Sehun grinned, pure and childlike.

 _“We can communicate through some mystical method. Your apparent willingness to interact with me is baffling. How do you act so complacent in the face of probable danger?”_ Jongin was genuine in his inquiry, longing for clearer answers, if not to seek understanding from these bizarre series of events.

Sehun’s chewing slowed, contemplation etching itself on his face. In the time he brooded, Jongin braced himself for mockery, scathing words.

“If you wanted me dead, you would’ve done it already. You had so many chances. The fact I stay alive and breathing to this second is proof you carry no ill intentions.” Sehun brushed a stray lock of hair away from his forehead using the back of his hand. “You should take into account that stories, whatever the source, can be exaggerated. I don’t discount the lethality of sirens. I’d just prefer not to listen to tall tales mindlessly.”

They resumed eating in complete, but not uncomfortable, silence. Jongin polished the honey cakes to the last morsel. He caught Sehun staring at him in fascination while licking the leftover crumbs from the pads of his fingers.

_“Something the matter?”_

“It’s fascinating you possess a human-like palate.” Sehun listed his head in wonder. “Are the algae and sea plants unappetizing compared to honey cake?” His forehead creased slightly, then his face smoothed into seriousness. “Do sirens have a sweet tooth, too?”

Jongin was unsure if it was the innocent nature of the question or Sehun’s demeanor with which he delivered it, but he chuckled, albeit soundless.

“Why must you laugh at my inquiries? I am serious,” Sehun insisted, a hint of sulkiness to his words. “Does my curiosity amuse you?”

 _“Extremely,”_ Jongin teased, smile broadening at Sehun’s mouth falling open, scandalized; the red tint invading his cheeks. _“I assure you sirens do not care for human food. They prefer sea vegetation above everything. Exceptions exist, of course. You have heard of them, these sirens who devour human souls and flesh. I am not one of them. I adore human food—more so than any siren in all seven seas, you could say.”_

Adjusting to siren diet had been a difficult, near harrowing experience. Jongin’s appetite and stomach did not agree with a vast majority of what sirens ate. Always he found something to complain about the algae, the plants, various fruits of the sea offered to him for a one-time try: too rough, too slimy, too tough, too inedible. He couldn’t bring himself to catch and cook fish—ridiculous as it came off, he teared up at the thought of having to slice and skewer them to selfishly quell hunger pangs. Regardless of his personal circumstances, Jongin treated them like friends; more so now that he moved and swam in the same environment with them for years.

So Jongin found other means of sustenance; eventually narrowed down his list of acceptable food items the sea readily provided. He’d only started stealing human food if they fell off the rocks, lay abandoned on the shores. Eating them each time was like a relearning experience; remembering this was what he was accustomed, and would never move past, even in this form.

“I should’ve ascertained your inclination for human food from your frequent consumption of honey cakes,” Sehun said. “Are sweet-tasting food your favorite?”

_“It is not. Do not act so suprised—I have my preferences. I have a greater liking for savory food. I do enjoy the occasional sweets. Honey cake forever holds my fondness.”_

“I enjoy sweets a lot.” Sehun’s smile faltered with what he said next. “I do not have the luxury to eat those as I please, however.” In a flash, his smile resumed. “Which means one thing: I need to work harder, so I can earn more coin to buy meat and sweets.”

When it was time for Sehun to leave, he stood up and dusted the sand off his trousers. “I’m uncertain of my next return, but I had a pleasant time talking to you,” he said, honest, which reflected in his smile.

 _“I shall seek you out at sea. I_ _will help you with your catch, so you may buy yourself the sweets you enjoy.”_

Sehun looked flustered by the proposal. “Thank you, but you don’t have to,” he said in such a timid voice, akin to a child presented with an extravagant present.

 _“I want to.”_ Jongin was firm about this.

Sehun sounded a little braver on his next question. “Will I see you again?”

And Jongin was a little less hesitant with his reply. _“You’ll find me here.”_

Sehun left with a wider, surer smile on his face and a skip on his step. Jongin watched his retreating form until he completely disappeared, the deafening noise of the waves slamming against the rocks not loud enough to drown the sound of his erratically-beating pulse.

☆彡

Jongin’s earliest memories involving sirens came from books.

After a long, productive day, he would dedicate an hour or two before bedtime losing himself between the library shelves. Young in age and open to trying anything remotely interesting at the time, he devoured his select stack of storybooks until the oil in the lamp burned out. The books transported him to worlds not his own; narrated fantastical tales of heroic protagonists and preternatural creatures. One of them was described as half human and half fish.

 _Siren_ , Jongin read the word aloud for the first time. The syllables rolled easily on his tongue after his initial stumbles on pronunciation, but its utterance rang ominous in his ears.

Siren portraits were similar across illustrated storybooks. Their otherworldly beauty was often drawn with careful, mesmerizing detail; colored using the most vibrant paints. If not perched on smooth boulders combing their long, flowing hair and gazing out to sea, they swam and played underwater, or sat in the tide pools watching ships sail past. In most stories, sirens bestowed boons and warned fishermen of impending storms by singing. Sometimes, sirens fell in love with humans, or longed for the land above, and they would enter bargains with a higher being to trade their tails for legs. They mostly returned to sea after being spurned, or heartbroken, letting the waters wash them away not as what they were but as sea foam.

In other books, sirens were harbinger of floods and drownings; ensnared hapless sailors traveling in the darkest of nights, coaxing them to abandon ship with false promises of happiness and eternity. Sometimes, sirens were consumed by their unending fascination for humans, or wanted unique playthings, and sorted to dastardly means. These stories often ended in tragedy, humans unable to survive underwater without the vital biology; and frequent murder, for sirens could not comprehend the transience of their lives.

Jongin hung onto every word until he grew up and grew out of reading storybooks; moved on to other genres more suited to his taste. Though he had stopped reading these books on his teenage years, trading them for gripping mysteries and mind-bending time travel tales, the subject of sirens and the talk surrounding it seemed inescapable. Sirens were fictional figures, or so the books claimed; so the people around Jongin insisted. Jongin wouldn’t have believed otherwise, until he began overhearing the hushed chatter among the hired help as they went about their tasks, oblivious to his presence in the shadows.

The accounts contained similarly eerie details, regardless of source. Overturned fishing boats, its fishermen missing and untraceable. Ships sinking on moonless nights, echoes of a haunting song in its wake. Drunken workmen frolicking by the shoreline, sobering at the sight of a lone woman sitting on the rocks, beckoning them to her using a silky voice. Come morning, their lifeless bodies would be discovered floating on the water, mouths frozen open in a soundless scream, red staining the front of their tunics and oozing out from a gaping hole on their chests. If the culprit was merciful, the bodies would be washed ashore in one piece, albeit in conditions similar to dried-out husks.

The tragic events happened in frequent succession; birthed the townspeople’s collective belief no human was capable of large-scale heinous crimes. Shipwreck survivors who sought refuge reinforced it by describing their assailants in the exact same way Jongin’s storybooks portrayed the sirens.

“Far better fate you’d meet facing off pirates compared to fish scum,” they claimed, grim and firm with their insistence.

Jongin wondered if frightening creatures truly lurked beneath the depths every time he stood on his balcony to take in the sight of the calm seas every morning’s rise; the waters glowing argent from brilliant moonlight before retiring for the night. He wondered about the soundness of these reports if they reached as far as court, the advisors split in their beliefs but united in their concern about the frequent occurrence of shipwrecks and missing fishermen. Frustrated by the lack of tangible evidence and dead-ends, Jongin took it upon himself to sneak off and blend with the populace, pretending he was on an undercover mission to dig out clues.

One of these missions led him to a tiny shop owned by the town’s best seamstress. Although Jongin had wandered inside and gained no clues, he discovered the fancy costumes were not the sole attractions in this shop. Chungha the Raconteur, they called the owner and seamstress, whose origins were unknown but presence welcomed by the citizens. Customers entered to purchase assorted garments, reasonably priced but on par with the aristocrats’ attires in quality and appearance. They stayed for the dreamy tales collected from her travels she narrated while working. On days her back wasn’t aching, creaky knees agreeing with the weather, Chungha hobbled to the town square and sat at the fountain’s edge, children gathering around her for a storytelling session, munching on apples she distributed.

Chungha recognized Jongin right away with one glance; vowed she would not disclose his identity to anybody, assuaging his panic. She assured her shop would welcome him any time he pleased. Drawn by her gentle nature and the stories she dispensed, Jongin’s visits grew frequent, each time leaving the shop with his literary soul enriched. Her tales were surprisingly diverse and inventive—seemingly more than the books housed in the library. From witches to serpents, valiant heroes and brutish pirates, her tales knew no limits, always something new while Jongin watched her do embroidery.

“Sirens exist, sweet prince,” Chungha told him, when Jongin could contain no longer the itch to ask. “Ethereal is their beauty, but take caution of whom you choose to befriend. They might cause you more trouble than what is worth.”

“How? They don’t have legs. They can’t do harm to the people, or to me. It’s impossible,” Jongin said, reaching for a strawberry from the plate prepared for him.

“You are not oblivious to the strange events happening in your kingdom. The drownings and disappearances, the sorry states of corpses, the missing hearts—do they look like the doings of humans?”

Jongin frowned. “By a madman, most likely.”

“Why do these doings transpire at sea, then? One does not require legs if determined to commit unforgivable crimes.”

Jongin frowned harder, unable to offer a justifiable response.

Chungha chuckled, the sound of it not mocking. “Remember, sweet prince: nothing is impossible to the powerful creatures of the sea. They can either seduce you to do their bidding, or pursue what they want with frightening grit.”

Jongin stopped mid-reach for another strawberry. “How do you know? Have you met one?”

“So many questions today, sweet prince! How unusual,” Chungha said between chortles. Her wizened face cracked in a toothless smile. She extended an arm to pinch Jongin’s cheek with gnarled fingers, ignoring his whine. “What do you think are the sources of my tales—my imagination? You flatter me so, but I shall burst your bubble and confess I merely speak from experience.”

Completely abandoning the strawberry, Jongin stated more than asked, almost breathless in his surprise, “So you _have_ met one.” In a corner of his mind, he considered the possibility Chungha might be toying with him; then again, a lot of her stories sounded too real to be passed off as merely fictitious. “Do they get legs? How? Is it like what storybooks claim?”

“I am unaware of what storybooks you’ve been reading, but sirens can acquire legs by giving up their voice. Their voices are powerful weapons as much as it is their sweet allure. They can cast spells on humans using song; transform them into marionettes that can do their bidding. However—and it is important to remember this, sweet prince—you must spare no room for complacency when faced with a voiceless siren. They have other ways to seduce you while masquerading as human.”

At first, Jongin could not comprehend this information; suspected Chungha was making up things to dissuade him in his pursuit for the truth. On the walk back home later that afternoon, before the sun set and everyone in the castle noticed his glaring absence, Jongin pondered if the mystery behind sirens would ever be unveiled; if there existed a true correlation between their existence and the bizarre series of unexplainable events.

Jongin would look back on this exchange four years later, when he was twenty and undergoing preparations as the kingdom’s next ruler, on that fateful morning he stood out on his balcony and spotted a body on the shore. Every word of his conversation with Chungha would serve as bitter reminder of the betrayal that came with the discovery; the beginning of his tumultuous journey he still had yet to conclude.

 _Siren._ How could such an enchanting word sound like a curse?

☆彡

Located in a corner of the deepest, safest parts of the sea was a cave Jongin claimed and called his home. Upon discovering this cave for the first time, he was at a loss on how to transform it into an inhabitable dwelling. The books never told him where sirens resided; how they constructed spaces into cozy homes. He was used to others doing things on his behalf, never having to concern himself with trifle matters. Now was different. Now he could rely on no one but himself.

And relied he did on his knowledge amassed from books read and lessons taught. Using the newfound strength of his lungs and improved swimming capabilities, he traversed the seas for ship graveyards. Old shipwrecks meant abandoned belongings, and though his conscience chastised him for stooping so low as to looting, Jongin reasoned he should exhaust all his means if it ensured survival. Swims back and forth had been laborious, more so when it involved dragging furniture too large and heavy for his frame, but rewarding in the end. Bit by bit, the cave started feeling more like home. Bit by bit, Jongin’s siren senses aided in helping him grow attuned to the endlessly cold seawater; bestowed heightened alertness to incoming storms that battered ships.

These wreckages provided him with more food and essentials. The pricking of humiliation and shame never failed to appear after a short-lived enjoyment. What would his tutors, the hired help, the common people say if they discovered their prince sorting to unseemly deeds worthy of punishment? The thoughts plagued Jongin in his sleep, but as time crawled forward, so did the toughening of his will.

The aquatic creatures were an unexpected immense help, understanding what he could not say; heard his voice, though no sound left his lips. Jongin easily befriended the fish, who were the first to commiserate with his eating woes; led him to the seabeds where specific kinds of algae thrived, the ones they claimed seeing humans harvest from time to time. The bigger animals took a while warming up to Jongin, most of them leery he posed danger like other sirens; others, suspicious of his sudden appearance in their waters.

Eventually, Jongin disproved their assumptions, won them over with his smiles and earnestness in making friends. Through spending time he learned dolphins and whales were similar to dogs and loved having their bellies rubbed. Seals and otters were endlessly playful, trailing after him like lost puppies when it was time to go separate ways. Turtles and tortoises had a penchant for having their shells massaged, despite the hard exteriors.

“I know of no siren who has successfully charmed every marine animal imaginable until you,” Moonkyu told Jongin, when he paid a surprise visit to his cave one night. Moonkyu was the sole siren who did not avoid him upon descending to the sea, entering his life at a time Jongin wallowed in great despair at the turn of his fate. From each other they learned and traded stories of human and siren ways; in each other they found a friendship strong and joyous. Though hailing from a cave two leagues away, Moonkyu never faltered in his visits. “An admirable feat—they tend to mind their own business. It is my personal wish for other sirens not to fear interacting with you.”

Jongin merely smiled. He was distracted by the crabs playing among themselves, pincers snapping and swimming in circles around them. It did not lessen the truth of Moonkyu’s words: though he had a tail, the other sirens could tell he was not born from the womb of the sea. He was unsure what gave it away, how they could tell the difference. All it took was one look for them to either swim away in avoidance or turned up their noses in disgust.

“How have you been doing, my friend?” Moonkyu asked, gentle in his inquiry. “I apologize for my absence; I have been unable to leave my cave.” Then, in a lowered voice, he continued, “The one we shan’t name went on a rampage recently. I waited a few days on purpose before swimming here in case his mood failed to improve. May the sea goddess bestow peace to those poor souls.”

Jongin scowled. He heard word of the latest shipwreck from the crabs; the souls snatched from the wreckage not lower than twenty. He murmured a prayer upon learning of their end; wondered how long must humans suffer in the hands of this insufferable barbarian. He frustratingly came up with no answers, further proving he was as helpless and powerless as everybody else.

_“I refuse to explore this subject. I do not wish to invite nightmares. Let us talk about something else.”_

“You met a fisherman who could hear your voice?” Moonkyu gasped out the words, after Jongin finished relaying the more interesting bits of his life in the past days. A grin spread on his face. “What spectacular news! Why the frown, my friend? You deem it strange a human can hear you? Is that not a good thing?” His features softened in immediate understanding. “Do you fear he might pull a diabolical stunt?”

Jongin pressed his lips together. Undoubtedly friendly Sehun came off, questionable decisions aside, one could never be too trusting. Friendliness was the catalyst that brought him here.

Moonkyu’s response was curtailed by a sudden shadow falling on the cave wall. The crabs stopped playing at once and swam away in panic. At the mouth of the cave lingered an enormous, scaly eel. Its snout bore swirling marks; its eyes glowed a burning red and bore into Jongin’s. The eel slithered into the cave without permission, first the head, then the body, and slid to a stop in front of Jongin.

“A long time it has been, fair one,” the eel’s grating, disembodied voice filled the cave.

Moonkyu gasped. Jongin was neither fazed nor impressed. This was not the eel’s first visit, and it wouldn’t be the last.

“I distinctly remember requesting an audience with you. Several times, in fact,” the eel spoke, a dangerous edge to its tone. “Does stubbornly ignoring my summons amuse you?”

 _“Very much so.”_ Jongin sneered, injecting smugness into his words. _“It is futile trying to sway me. My answer shall stay the same. I will never grace your court unless you honor your word.”_

“Oh, how you wound me,” the eel answered, but the words sounded insincere—near mocking, even. “I merely wanted to see you, which was my main purpose in sending you summons. Why must we play these games? When we were getting acquainted, you have shown me your kind and gentle soul, one who does not bear grudges. Yet here you are now, doing exactly that.”

 _“I do not believe in anything you say anymore.”_ Jongin expressed his anger using hasty, snappy gestures. _“You have fooled me once. Fooling me a second time is unforgivable.”_

“How unfortunate it has come to this. I am honest about my offer, fair one. I shall return what you desire if you give me what I long for.” The eel lifted its head, red eyes turning sinister.

Jongin refused to be cowed. They held this exact conversation in the past. Several times, but all headed nowhere. Unsurprisingly, it wasn’t to seek a fair negotiation. He glowered, squared his shoulders defiantly. _“I will not give what does not exist. Give up your inane fantasies.”_

The eel chuckled, a low, chilling sound. “Your defiance is entertaining, fair one. Challenging. You forget I take great pleasure in conquering challenges. Shall we wager what comes first: my patience wearing thin or your surrender?” It glided forward, purposefully predatory, and circled around Jongin. He shuddered in repulsion as its fins brushed against his skin. “Five years is far too long staying deadlocked. One of us will yield sooner or later. My offer is simple; you know this well. Do not make things complicated for yourself, fair one.”

Jongin clenched his fists, body trembling in contained fury as the eel took its leave. He was unsure how long he’d been staring at the mouth of the cave, slightly apprehensive the eel might return for a second visit. It must’ve been a while if he didn’t shrug off Moonkyu’s hand on his shoulder, the rest of his displeasure evaporating from the comforting squeeze.

It took a while longer before the crabs came out of their hiding place, and for Moonkyu to address what transpired earlier. “So, the rumors have been true: Changho the Ruthless uses his pet eel as a messenger.”

A spy, too. The eel was Changho’s eyes and ears across the seas, lurking in the shadows, monitoring his subjects’ every word and action. Those he suspected plotting or speaking ill against him had been dealt gruesome punishments; at times, sudden disappearances, then reappearing dying or dead with missing body parts. On rare occasions, no remains were found, and plenty suspected they were fed to the eel. It was suppression and fear mongering using the most underhanded tactics—immensely unbecoming of a sea king, who hid away in his palace like a true coward but quick to lay judgment without fair trial and tormented his subjects.

“What does the king seek from you? Is it what you told me before?” Moonkyu’s mouth formed a surprised ‘O,’ as if he was hearing this again for the first time. “He is relentless in his pursuit of you. I cannot see this ending well.”

 _“I will not yield. I will_ never _yield.”_

“My friend, I say this only due to heavy concern, but it is unwise to stoke his anger. You know what he is capable of doing. His temper has also been volatile as of late, wreaking havoc from the smallest dissatisfaction…”

_“It is pointless seeking civil discussion with a pompous brat. Resisting him is the best I can do while buying myself time to break this curse.”_

“Have you found anything?”

Jongin shook his head, begrudging his frustrating lack of progress. _“Changho is confident I won’t break it unless I go to him. It is why he has a lot of nerve plaguing me for years on end. He deems me as someone too fragile who would surrender to him completely.”_ Past memories rushed through him in an unbidden flood, reigniting his dormant fury once more. _“He took advantage of my kindness. I do not take kindly to opportunists. I will break this curse if it’s the last thing I do. And he will pay dearly for what he has done.”_

☆彡

Sehun wasn’t alone today.

Jongin rushed to hide behind the closest boulder the moment laughter reached his ears. Peeking ascertained he was right: on the shore, happy, shrieking children ran to and fro in what looked like a game of tag. Sehun, blindfolded and arms stretched forward, was groping air and following the children’s calls of _this way!_ and _no, this way!_ A silly smile stretched his mouth; responded to the children’s teasing with a claim of not going easy on them if caught. A flurry of giggles was the children’s answer, dancing out of Sehun’s reach if he came too close.

 _“He is so bad at this game.”_ Jongin couldn’t help chuckling as Sehun’s hands missed a child’s arm or their shirt sleeves by an inch, though his laughter indicated he didn’t seem to mind.

A little girl, perhaps the youngest among them, seemed to take pity on Sehun and decided to end his unlucky streak by running straight into his arms. Sehun secured her in a one-armed hug, yanking down the blindfold with his free hand, and proceeded to tickle her ribs. One of the taller boys saw an opportunity, rallying his other playmates to rescue the princess of the land from the monster’s clutches. Sehun played along, threatening to eat the princess. The children ganged up on him, resulting in everyone falling on the sand, rolling around every which way as the biggest tickle fight ensued.

After catching their breaths, one by one they stood and dusted the sand off their clothes. Sehun helped the tinier children clean theirs.

“You should play with us more, Sehun. We rarely get to see you anymore,” one of the children griped.

“That’s right, that’s right! You’re always out at sea in the mornings, then off to the market, then who knows where in the afternoons?” another chimed, sounding more petulant than the first.

Sehun smiled and ruffled their hair. “Hey, now, I play plenty with all of you! Didn’t we play hopscotch yesterday by the fountain?”

A chorus of jumbled agreements.

“But you only played with us for a short while,” came a third child’s dissatisfied complaint. “You used to play with us until sundown, and we would walk home together after dark. That hasn’t happened in so long.”

“You know my grandpa’s been sick for a long time, right?” Sehun asked, voice maintaining its gentleness. The children nodded in almost perfect sync. “When Grandpa is sick, I need to do everything at home by myself. I need to cook our meals, clean our house, sew our clothes, and mend our fishing nets. Now, you know why I haven’t been playing with you bunch. Chores and errands get me busy and take up my time. It’s not because I don’t like spending time with you bunch.”

“But where do you go after selling all of your fish in the market?”

“I go to the shipyard and help with shipbuilding.”

The children let out mixed sounds of awe and understanding.

Sehun played with the children several more times until he sent them off and away for lunch. When asked to join them, he said he would stay behind a little longer. Jongin was unsure if Sehun could see him or not, for as he spoke, he glanced sidelong to the boulder’s direction.

“Ah! I know why Sehun wants to stay here!” one of the older children announced, mischievous expression hard to miss. “My mother told me when a young, unmarried man spends a long time in hidden or forbidden places, he’s going to have a t… t…” He stumbled on the word two more times before blurting out loudly, clearly: “A tryst!”

“‘Tryst?’ What’s that?” a younger child asked, blinking huge, innocent eyes. “Is it food?”

Sehun mimed monster claws and a monster roar and chased them away. The children fled, an instant response, squeals ringing in the air. The child who brought up the term shouted “Sehun has a tryst! Sehun has a tryst!” at the top of his lungs. The others echoed him in varied volumes and garbled versions of the word, proving it too difficult to pronounce for some at their age.

Behind the boulder, Jongin did not hold back on his laughter.

“I don’t know how much you heard,” Sehun said, when the children had long disappeared and Jongin deemed it safe to swim to shore, “but children these days…” He shook his head in fond exasperation.

 _“Be careful of what you say around the young ones. You want to avoid their parents having a bad impression of you.”_ Jongin couldn’t smother his smile if he tried. He hadn’t experienced this sort of pure amusement in a long, long time.

“It’s no issue,” Sehun said, waving his hand in a flippant manner. His lunch for today was the same as other times, albeit lessened portions. “The children like teasing me since, compared to others my age, I don’t get annoyed easily. I can understand they mean no harm or malice. If they step out of line, I don’t scold them. Rather, I explain why they shouldn’t say or do some things. They’re a good bunch, all in all.”

Jongin opened the container of honey cakes, complete in its usual, perfect set of three. Though inviting, his appetite was missing. He looked at Sehun’s lunch, then his; noted the disconcerting contrast. This did not feel right.

Sehun must have noticed, for he cast him a questioning stare. “Are the cakes not to your liking today?”

 _“You are not eating enough.”_ Jongin pointed to Sehun’s container. _“That looks less the amount of your usual fare.”_

Surprise stole across Sehun’s face. “Oh. It’s… I simply do not have a lot of appetite these days. Fatigue, perhaps, from setting out at sea too early in the mornings. I have a tonic at home that helps in restoring strength. I shall have a drink of it later.”

Jongin did not buy the lie, even if Sehun passed it off as truth. His mind tracked back to Sehun’s conversation with the children; deliberated on his next statement, hoping it would not come off offensive. _“Are you currently in dire straits?”_

Sehun’s face became guarded. Immediate regret struck Jongin but faded upon Sehun’s expression morphing to reluctance first, vulnerability next.

“I am doing my best to make ends meet,” Sehun spoke, after a long, tense silence. “My catches consistently sell out and fetch me a nice price. But Grandpa has been sick for a more than a month, so…” He paused, breathing in and out a shuddering breath. “I will see this through. Grandpa requires a lot of nutritious food and medicine to recover. Those do not come cheap. Shipbuilding covers some of our expenses, not all. I will need to find more work soon before all our savings vanish.”

Jongin frowned, in spite of his chest aching with sympathy. _“If you intend to help your grandfather, you cannot eat less than what you are having now. Two sick people in one household do nobody good.”_

“It is _fine_.” Sehun’s tone sounded terse. He ran both hands down his face in an exhausted gesture, shoulders slumped.

Jongin rested a hand on Sehun’s shoulder, hoping it could relay the comfort he wished to give. Sehun tensed upon contact, at first, but didn’t shrug off his hold; eventually relaxed. Jongin dared his hand to travel up and down his back in soothing circles. He did not trust himself to say anything right now, a little apprehensive he might utter something out of line, even in the face of good intentions. So he sorted to what he thought might work best, summoning memories of his nursemaid doing this when he was upset as a child.

“I might want to change my previous statement.” Sehun faced Jongin when he seemed relatively better. A weak smile pushed up the corners of his mouth. Jongin did not like seeing it. “Though I had been ignoring it for a time, I admit: some days are harder than others. Sometimes, I don’t know if we’ll have enough to buy ingredients for dinner the following day. Doesn’t mean I should wallow in my woes.” His smile broadened, but it looked false. “My bad; I didn’t mean to vent. Hey, why are you frowning? Are you worried? Don’t be. I always find a way out of adversaries. Grandpa means the world to me. I intend to give him a comfortable life after everything he’s done.”

Today was the first time Jongin could not stomach the honey cakes, yet he could not disappoint an earnest, expectant Sehun watching him. With a torn heart, Jongin bit into one; chewed with herculean effort before promptly giving up. Sehun did not comment on his reaction, but his silence was not cold.

 _“What treasure of the sea fetches a good price if sold on land?”_ Jongin asked Moonkyu, upon returning to his cave later that day.

Moonkyu made a noise of contemplation after listening to Jongin’s story. “I’ve seen humans wearing these funny garments while combing through shipwrecks. They emerge from the wreckages carrying armfuls of sparkling objects. What does it look like? They seem to be accessories worn around necks and arms? Jewelry? Is that what it’s called?” He cocked his head and hummed in deep thought. “Hmm… on several occasions, I’ve witnessed humans harvest oysters for their pearls.”

Jongin latched onto this idea. He didn’t know where to find oysters; thankfully, Moonkyu knew where to find those that actively produced pearls. Moonkyu told him of his wry amusement watching humans harvest multiple oysters in the naïve belief pearls sat inside every single one of them. Jongin learned now this was not true. Through combined efforts, the right tools, and many mumbled apologies to the oysters from Jongin, they collected pearls of different colors and sizes. Jongin gathered them in a tiny drawstring pouch. Looking at the pouch’s bulge and hefty weight, Jongin thought it was worth the ache in his wrists from the usage of tools; the slight cuts on his fingertips from clumsy accidents.

Sehun’s stunned face when Jongin knocked on the side of his boat early the next morning was near comical, and worth breaking the surface despite of the real danger he might be seen by other fishermen. He motioned for Sehun to come close, give him his hand. Jongin dropped the pouch on Sehun’s palm, closing his fingers around it and swam away to create distance between them.

Sehun’s forehead creased in confusion before opening the pouch. His eyes widened, mouth falling open in a shocked, soundless gasp. Immediately, he closed the pouch and cast a worried glance around his surroundings.

Jongin smiled, feeling good and proud about his accomplishment. _“Pearls are in high demand and on par with precious gems used for jewelries. The nobility loves pearls and are easily smitten by the most lustrous ones. Sell them. Buy what you need from the money you make. This is not a matter of pride—I do not mean to bruise yours. Think beyond that. Do this for your grandfather.”_

Jongin ducked into the water upon the approach of fishing boats. Elderly fishermen engaged Sehun in lively conversation. After the boats left and Sehun hauled up his filled nets, Jongin surfaced once again, this time clambering onto the boat with all his might and minimal help. A tight fit, with the vat and the nets; at least he was face to face with Sehun once settled, tail tucked beneath him as he sat.

Sehun’s gaze dropped to the pouch in his hand. “I do not feel worthy of receiving this big of a help,” he confessed. “I would’ve preferred helping Grandpa using my own efforts.”

 _“It is not wrong asking or receiving help when things are too hard to handle by yourself.”_ Once more, Jongin reached out to enclose Sehun’s hands around the pouch, giving a firm squeeze. _“Seek help from a trustworthy friend if needed to sell the pearls. Do not settle for anything less than their actual prices. Immediately buy your grandfather’s needs once you receive payment.”_

Hesitation was written plainly on Sehun’s face. Jongin prepared for more resistance, more stalling and flawed arguments. To his genuine surprise, Sehun slowly nodded his head.

“Thank you.” Though spoken timidly, Sehun’s words did not lack in sincerity. “I will repay you for this favor in the future.”

Jongin shook his head. _“There is no need. I did not help you with the expectation of repayment. Now, go. I await nothing but good news on our next meeting.”_

On said next meeting, Sehun looked less burdened, a happier light in his eyes; on his face. Jongin found himself grinning at this improved sight—preferred it by a large margin—though refrained from making assumptions. Jongin’s lunch was the usual honey cake, with a surprising addition of two extra pieces. Glimpsing over at Sehun’s container, Jongin bit back a pleased smile seeing it filled with more portions, and some new items: several slices of cheese, veal, and a handful of cranberries.

A savory aroma wafted from an unevenly-shaped bag, piquing Jongin’s interest. Taking a deeper inhale, Jongin deduced it to be a meat of some sort. He must not be as discreet as he thought—Sehun flashed him a knowing smile before carefully peeling off the paper to reveal a whole roasted chicken, its rich scent now stronger exposed and filled Jongin’s nose.

“I didn’t know what else to buy for you at the marketplace.” Sehun suddenly looked shy, cheeks a bright red that did not look in the least sun-warmed. “I only know of your inclination for honey cakes. Grandpa told me I could never go wrong with roasted chicken.” Then, he rushed to add, “I understand if you prefer a roasted duck or turkey. Chicken seemed safest to choose, though it is lost on me if sirens like poultry to begin with…” He sounded increasingly hesitant as he spoke.

Jongin shouldn’t find Sehun’s troubled expression adorable; couldn’t help smiling as he shared his worries. _“I would’ve been content with five pieces of honey cake. It is thoughtful of you to go through the trouble of buying something else for me.”_ He reached out to gently pat Sehun’s hand. Sehun startled at the contact but looked overcome with relief. _“I cannot speak for other sirens, but roasted chicken is one of my favorites.”_

They split the roasted chicken between them. The first bite had Jongin closing his eyes at the burst of flavors he sorely missed, taking him back to fancy dinners and celebrations he was forced to dress up for when he wanted nothing more than to dig straight into the food in his younger years.

Sehun watched him in silent awe for before helping himself to a chicken leg. “You must not hear this often, but for a siren, you definitely have expensive taste in human food.” Their companionable silence lasted for a long time until he broke it. “I think I _do_ owe you a roasted duck. Or several more roasted chickens. Without the pearls, I wouldn’t have been able to buy Grandpa’s medicine, or proper food for faster recovery. There’s still a lot of money left from the pearls we sold—I’ve set them aside for future emergencies, of course. But, now, Grandpa won’t get too worried about me arriving home after dark.”

 _“You can eat better food and in bigger portions, now, too,”_ Jongin pointed out gently, aware this might still be a touchy topic.

Sehun slowly nodded. “Correct. I cannot risk falling ill if I intend to help Grandpa. It means I need to eat properly. Just so you know, I didn’t sell all the pearls. I refuse to rely on easy money-making methods. I’ll continue working and earning my wages.”

Lunch reached its conclusion when the unmistakable shrieks of children were heard, followed by the call of Sehun’s name. Panic rushed through Jongin upon realizing he couldn’t crawl back to the waters fast enough to hide. Sehun must’ve thought the same thing, eyes widened and expression alarmed as the children drew nearer. He swiftly rummaged through his sack and pulled out a blanket. Jongin recognized it as the blanket he used to put the honey cakes on when they used to meet at the other side of the shore.

Sehun spread out the blanket and used it to cover Jongin’s tail, tucking in the sides and corners so the fins wouldn’t peek out. “Leave this to me,” was the last thing he said before the children reached.

One of them leapt onto Sehun’s back, the other clinging onto his arm before noticing Jongin’s presence. Two of the youngest girls Sehun played tag with not long ago. Two of the youngest girls who kept leaving the honey cakes on the rocks, dropping them between the gaps.

Jongin had never felt more self-conscious than before—under the scrutiny of innocent-eyed children, no less—but he fought through it by beaming his best smile, silently hoping they wouldn’t involve him in conversation.

“We knew we’d find you here!” the child that clung onto Sehun’s back said, mouth pulling wide into a victorious, toothy grin. “See, Jinhee, I told you Sehun would be here. He always comes here for some reason.”

Jinhee, the one clinging onto Sehun’s arm, looked up at him with a pout. “I told Jihyun we shouldn’t snoop on you. It’d be rude if we did. She wouldn’t listen to me. Sorry if we disturbed your t… tr… what do you call that again?”

“No such thing is happening here, I assure you,” Sehun corrected immediately, telltale red on the tips of his ears.

Jihyun’s face lit up in surprise upon noticing Jongin. “Who is he, Sehun? He doesn’t look like he’s from our town.”

“He’s a friend,” Sehun said. “He lives in another town.”

“The next one?”

“Farther than that.”

Jinhee made a noise of understanding. “Why’s he bundled in a blanket? It’s so hot—isn’t he sweating?”

Sehun struggling to answer shouldn’t be entertaining to watch, but Jongin enjoyed and waited for what he would say. “He just came from a swim, and he felt cold,” was his chosen response.

The children accepted it without question, not even bothering to ask why there was a lack of drying garments anywhere nearby. Jinhee, however, ogled at Jongin, stark fascination shining in her eyes. Jongin sensed neither malice nor threat in her gaze. He listed his head, hoping it conveyed he was inviting whatever questions she might have.

Jinhee read it right; must’ve panicked she was caught staring, for she hid half her face behind Sehun’s arm. She tugged at Sehun’s sleeve to get his attention. “Why’s he so beautiful?” she whispered to Sehun, though the volume of her voice made it not so.

Sehun seemed at a loss on how to answer. “He was born beautiful,” was the answer he settled for, after seconds of struggling.

 _“Really, now?”_ Jongin lifted one eyebrow at Sehun, not smothering the smile on his lips. Especially not when Sehun said it with such a straight face.

“Do you like beautiful people, Sehun?” Jihyun let go of Sehun’s neck so she could stand beside him and look at his face. “Is he the most beautiful one you’ve trysted with?”

Sehun let out a burst of baffled laughter, red spreading fast across his cheeks. “Now, young lady, however and wherever did you get that idea? Also, you are not using that word correctly.”

Jinhee tugged at Sehun’s sleeve again. “Do you often tryst with him here?”

Sehun made a sound in his throat that sounded half-embarrassed and half-scandalized. Jongin shouldn’t, but he couldn’t refrain from delighting in seeing Sehun suffer answering improper inquiries.

Getting his senses (and a shred of dignity) back, Sehun cleared his throat, though the red in his cheeks hadn’t receded. “Children, let me correct you on something. The appropriate word you are supposed to use is ‘rendezvous.’”

The children tried parroting back the word in variations of unintelligible and almost there. Sehun patiently guided them through the pronunciation. He was just half as successful before dropping the lesson, mostly because they were beginning to complain.

“‘Tryst’ is easier to say,” Jinhee said, decisively nodding her head. “What’s wrong with saying ‘tryst,’ anyway?”

“Shouldn’t we be more worried more about Sehun trysting with someone here?” Jihyun asked, arms akimbo. “Didn’t you listen to the aunts and uncles? They say this part of the shore is haunted! Aren’t you scared the monster will come out from the castle and eat you?”

Sehun’s frown came as a surprise to Jongin. “You should know better than to always believe their stories. _Especially_ the uncles when they’ve drunk too much ale—they tend to exaggerate their stories. There are no monsters around here. There are no monsters in the castle, either.”

“How do you know?” Jihyun asked, a challenge in her voice, despite the genuine curiosity. “Have you checked for yourself?”

“That’s right!” Jinhee nodded her head, pigtails swaying with the movement. “You can’t say for sure there are no monsters if you haven’t seen it yourself.”

“If there really were monsters around, they would’ve eaten me already, right? But look: I’m still here, and in one piece.” Sehun held out his arms, gestured to his entire body for emphasis. “So, until the monster reveals itself from wherever it’s hiding from and scares me away, I won’t believe it exists.”

“Maybe the monster doesn’t like you,” Jihyun suggested. “Maybe the monster thinks you won’t taste good because you’re skin and bones.”

“Hey, now.” Sehun feigned affront, taking Jihyun hostage and tickled her, extracting an apology between giggles.

Jinhee shyly inched toward Jongin. “May I sit here?” she asked, pointing to the space beside Jongin. She gave a happy squeal when Jongin nodded, and then stared at him with unveiled awe. “You’re really so pretty. Prettier than the roses my mother tends in her garden—and she tells me they’re the most beautiful flowers in the land! You’re even prettier than my prettiest doll at home.” She cupped her hands around her mouth and leaned close, whispering conspiratorially, “Oh, do be careful about the monster around here! The aunts and uncles say the monster likes to prey on pretty humans. Don’t go home after sundown, okay?”

Jongin pasted on his best smile and nodded. He was conflicted about the warning, but he could tell it came from a genuine place of concern. He wasn’t one to break a little girl’s heart by being mean without explanation.

Jihyun and Jinhee tugged at each of Sehun’s hands until he gave in to their request of playing tag. It took a bit of explaining why Jongin couldn’t join them. In the end, they bought Sehun’s poorly put-together excuse of Jongin being easily cold and having weak legs. Jongin shared the remainder of his honey cakes with them after they sat down to rest. The children thanked Sehun for buying them candies previously, and then proceeded to tell Jongin all about the colorful, delicious treats he had given them and the others. Jongin hid a smile behind his cake. Giving those pearls to Sehun was definitely worth it.

As the sunset began painting the skies with pinks, oranges, and purples, Sehun told the children it was time for them to head home. They groused, they whined, but ultimately relented after extracting promises of more candies from Sehun.

“Remember what I told you, okay?” Jinhee reminded Jongin. “If you stay behind and it gets too dark, you can ask Sehun to protect you from the monster!”

“What?” Jihyun exclaimed, shocked. “Are you joking? Sehun might be the first to run away if the monster comes out. He’s a huge scaredy-cat, you know.”

“Goodbye, children,” Sehun said pointedly, looking parts mortified and amused. “Head straight home, alright?” He mimed chasing them like a monster would as they scampered off, giddy laughter ringing in the air and fading in their wake.

 _“Was Jihyun’s teasing a blow to your ego? Are you truly a scaredy-cat?”_ Jongin dared ask, making sure he delivered it in his best teasing voice.

Sehun groaned, sitting down beside him on the sand. “Not you, too.” He feigned annoyance with a disapproving frown. “There are many things I fear. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

 _“Like the monster in the supposedly haunted castle?”_ Jongin tested, pointing a finger to its general direction behind them.

Sehun shook his head. “I doubt a monster lives in the abandoned castle. Compared to a majority of the townspeople, I don’t think there even exists one, despite what the tales say.”

_“What tales?”_

“Right. You must not know.” Sehun sat facing Jongin, legs crossed. “They’re different from what the aunts and uncles spread in town. The tales talk about a prince who used to live in the abandoned castle. The prince was said to possess a beauty unmatched that even the gods envied. He had many suitors due to this, which isn’t a surprise. The problem was his vanity: the adulations muddled his mind, and he became arrogant. He began thinking he was too good for anyone in this world; that no one could surpass him or be his equal. He broke many hearts, including one that wasn’t… exactly human. Nobody knows for sure, but they claimed it was a witch.

“As punishment for stringing along hapless lads and ladies, the last victim included, the prince was cursed to become a monster so unsightly and ferocious no one would want him. After his transformation, the castle became abandoned. The townspeople swore they heard roars akin to a wild beast coming from the castle on full moon nights, which fed the belief it was also haunted. Some swore they heard hooves and howling in the surrounding vicinity at nighttime. That explains why no one dared venture to this part of the shore past sundown.

“It’s complete drivel, if you ask me,” Sehun said, pushing back his hair away from his eyes. “Grandpa told me a prince truly used to live in the castle but disappeared one day. No one knows why. I’d believe him any day over a drunken uncle insisting they’ve seen the monster lurking in the castle. The townspeople have conflicting stories about the prince. Some swore the prince was loved by many, so maybe the witch became envious and cursed him to disappear. It doesn’t match the most popular tale about him and the castle, which is why I don’t believe any of it.” He sighed, a sign they had reached the story’s end. “But none of this matters. The castle has long been abandoned. The prince may or may not be out there. It does make fantastic fodder for spooky stories to scare naughty kids. Oh, wait, the blanket must be uncomfortable on your tail. Sorry about that.”

Sehun carefully lifted the blanket. Jongin had forgotten his tail was covered until he was overcome with a sudden itchiness. He frowned as he smoothed a hand down his dried tail, careful not let his fingers get caught on the scales.

“Too dry? Hold on.” Sehun rinsed an empty container before scooping seawater, and then crouched to slowly pour it on Jongin’s tail.

The itch was alleviated, but not for long. Jongin spread the water on his tail the best he could, but his reach was limited and the water was evaporating fast. Sehun returned with the container filled to the brim, scooped some between his hands, and spread them on Jongin’s tail after gaining permission to touch. Sehun worked diligently, not leaving any inch of Jongin’s tail untouched. Jongin stopped mid-gesture, distracted by Sehun’s face immersed in concentration, the furrow between his brows; watched the gentle ministrations of his hands on his tail as he rubbed seawater like it was oil.

The logical choice was to return to the sea so the itchiness and drying would disappear once and for all. Jongin knew that right from the start. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to suggest it; not after Sehun went straight ahead and helped. Something behind Jongin’s ribs stirred to life as he nodded and shook his head whenever Sehun asked him questions about how much water he needed, was it enough, was he rubbing too hard, was he doing it right?

“Are you feeling better?” Sehun asked, once the water in the container ran out. The setting sun cast an amber glow on his well-defined features. Jongin wondered if he’d been looking at him blindly all this time, for he only noticed now how handsome Sehun looked. “Hey, did you hear me?”

 _“Yes, my tail feels better. Thank you.”_ Jongin withheld himself from wincing at how breathless he sounded in his response.

Sehun, thankfully, did not sense anything was amiss. “It’s time you return to the waters. I’m sorry again about keeping the blanket on you for too long. I can’t do anything about the children since they know I come here. I just hope it won’t be an everyday occurrence.”

Jongin found the statement peculiar but did not comment on it.

The sun was continuing to slide down the horizon, the skies turning darker. Sehun packed up his things; waited for Jongin to be in the safety of the waters. Jongin breathed in content as soon as his tail was completely submerged, but an unwillingness lingered in him that refused to disappear.

“I have to go now.” Sehun waved in goodbye. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Tomorrow couldn’t come any sooner, Jongin thought, as he smiled and bade goodbye in return. Jongin didn’t stop waving even if Sehun couldn’t see after he’d turned his back; until his figure had entirely retreated. Behind his ribs stirred to life something else aside from the first, this one heavier and ached in a way he dared not contemplate over in fear it might become something uncontrollable.

☆彡

The tales about the castle and its prince weren’t new to Jongin.

Before meeting Sehun, before the children shared what the town aunts and uncles said, Jongin would catch various iterations of these tales from fishermen throwing nets before first light; sometimes from their wives, who collected dried fish hung on racks, or cured them with salt by batches in large vats. The gossiping was not a daily incidence, but every time they glimpsed the abandoned castle looming from a distant amid working, conjectures would be drawn about the missing prince.

In one version, the prince was cursed to become a fearsome monster as price of his vanity and arrogance. He now resided deep in the woods, preying on unsuspecting humans for abandoning him. In another, the prince was cursed to die alone and miserable, without anyone knowing the location of his remains. Due to this, he transformed into a vengeful ghost listlessly wandering in and out the castle grounds. If the sources were particularly creative, the prince had reformed his ways but could not break free from his wretched form, the witch refusing appeasement and prolonging his suffering.

Jongin was shocked by how much the truth had been skewed, at first; how much exaggerated truths and shoehorned lies layered the accounts as they were passed from one mouth to another. He continued eavesdropping in secret, equal parts appalled and amused by the inventive tales. After the last of the humans left shore and sea, Jongin’s gaze would stray to the castle—now just a shell of its former glory—and remember the events from that fateful night. At times hope seemed lost and the situation bleak, Jongin would look at the castle, inspiration and reminder of what he must reclaim; what he was set out to do.

That night, once Moonkyu departed after another visit, Jongin was preparing to retire when the crabs that kept him company rose from their resting spot and swam to the opening of the cave. Their movements neither seemed panicked nor frightened.

A baby turtle swam into the cave.

Jongin swam halfway to meet it, holding out his cupped hands. The baby turtle settled between them. Turtles seldom came to his cave, albeit his good relations with the animals.

“The mistress wants to see you,” the baby turtle spoke, voice childlike and sweet. Its eyes glowed an otherworldly shade of blue Jongin knew was not its natural eye color. “She says she will meet you at the cliffside cave on the edge of the shore.”

Jongin wasted not a second longer.

The cliffside cave had been their rendezvous place for years. It was the place he sought refuge from when he went into hiding after acquiring his tail. Memories of that night and subsequent nights played through his mind during the swim as he followed the baby turtle’s lead, despite knowing the destination by heart. He crawled inland upon arriving, not stopping until he was safely within the cave’s confines.

Light flooded the cave, provided by the lanterns that hung on the walls. A pile of neatly-folded garments were set to the side. Though they risked getting caught if someone took courage to check why a cave would light up out of nowhere in the middle of the night, Jongin was confident its obscurity would protect them, too. The cave was so easily missed unless one went searching for it on purpose, or lacked knowledge of this hidden corner of the shore. Perhaps the knowledge the cave was so close to the castle helped in frightening intruders away.

An enormous splash. The sound of dropping weight. A seal, large in size with a shiny coat, crawled onto the cave floor. Seawater trailed down its body, its fins, and left behind a trail as it made its way to Jongin. Midway through, the foreflippers transformed into arms; the hind flippers became a pair of legs. The large body shaped itself to a frail, hunched frame. The sealskin shed, revealing an old woman with a wizened face and gnarled fingers. Jongin quickly covered his eyes with his hands to provide privacy.

“My, my—quite the distance I had to swim this time ‘round. Oh, how my back aches! Oh, how my joints creak! You can look now, sweet prince. I am decent.”

 _“I hope your travels have been well and fruitful.”_ Jongin smiled, hands falling away from his eyes.

Chungha the Raconteur’s mouth formed a toothless smile. She shuffled the rest of the way, gently rifling Jongin’s hair once she was close enough. “My travels exhaust me, but not more than maintaining my seal form. The limits of my magic is a truly wretched thing. No matter. Just a little more patience, sweet prince, and the curse will be broken.”

 _“I heard a new variation of the tale you have spread far and wide.”_ Jongin rushed to share with her what Sehun and the children told him. Chungha listened without interrupting, then laughed after he finished. Unable to hold back his petulance, he said, _“We agreed spreading the tale served an important purpose. I had no idea I continue to be portrayed in ways dreadful and absurd.”_

“Fortune smiles on you for I had not gone overboard with descriptions. You may accuse me of being too harsh had I disclosed nightmarish details of your hideous appearance to the gossipmongers,” Chungha teased, a sparkle of amusement in her eyes. “Come, now; stop sulking. I am but a humble seamstress who spins spine-chilling tales about you and your castle using details so realistic no one questions its validity. These tales, exaggerated they may come off, protect your property and whereabouts.”

Jongin’s mirth dwindled at the reminder. _“I know.”_

Chungha’s next words were laden with concern and precaution. “Tragedy awaits your discovery. You know this, too. Your identity will not matter in the worst case scenario. It will not salvage you from the wrath of men who thirst to exact revenge on behalf of their fallen brethren. They need only one look at your tail before you are swiftly dealt with.”

Jongin frowned but did not refute Chungha’s words. _“This is the doing of Changho and his rampages. If he had not been causing wreckages and taking countless lives, the people would look more kindly at sirens.”_ He slumped against the cave wall, overcome with vexing helplessness—one he had long learned to associate with this impasse. He covered his face with his hands. _“Yet, somehow, it feels hypocritical to push all the blame to one side. Many a time I wonder if I should have softened the rejection, or asked for more time to think. But I did not because I cannot lie to myself, much less do it for the sake of raising and crushing hopes.”_

“Honesty is not a flaw. It is not your fault sea scum does not take rejection well, especially one with an overinflated ego.”

He shouldn’t, but Jongin found himself smiling. _“To this day, I am still puzzled how he mistook my kindness as something else. Was it my fault I have been too friendly? Should that not be the way to treat others?”_

Chungha’s gaze softened. She approached Jongin, letting slip huffs and groans brought by faulty knees; squeezed his shoulder reassuringly once she stood close enough. “Regarding everyone with kindness is no easy feat. You are not to be blamed for your actions to someone as undeserving as Changho. You were unaware of his true intentions; his true form.”

 _“And that is how I have become this.”_ Jongin sadly gestured to his tail.

“And that is why I am doing my best, pushing the limits of this borrowed body in favor of the greater good. Stalling prolongs the undersea folk’s agony and living your life in limitless seclusion. My comrades and I are only buying our time, now. Then we strike. We strike with the fury of a thousand storms.” Chungha’s eyes gleamed like fiery coals, words packed with a promise of big things awaiting execution.

Often Jongin heard the whispers among the sea creatures about their disdain for the current sea king; his tyrannical rule of the waters, the cruel punishments he imposed on his subjects. Their silence and aversion proved his scare tactics unfortunately effective, everyone traversing the waters with fear deeply instilled in their being. Excluding his prized eel, Jongin did not rule out the possibility of numerous spies planted in inconspicuous corners of the sea that served as Changho’s eyes and ears. This alone incited him to be carefully cautious every time he swam to his favorite spots; to meet Sehun and help him with his catch or spend long hours together.

“Our crab friends passed to me some interesting piece of information.” Chungha’s comment pulled him out of his reverie. Childlike mischief was etched on her heavily-wrinkled face. “You have been meeting someone frequently on the shores near your castle. A young man, they told me. One who looked like he should belong to the nobility rather than breaking his back over fishing.”

The name was not spoken, but an image of Sehun flashed in Jongin’s mind. A cool breeze blew in from the cave entrance but did little to alleviate the heat scoring his cheeks.

_“The crabs speak no lies. His company is one I enjoy immensely. He has shown me nothing but kindness. He is a filial grandson to his grandfather and a playful older brother figure to children. He is naive in some ways but in him beats a steadfast heart. Oh, but what a curious thing that he can hear me talk without a hitch! No other human I’ve encountered, from afar or within close proximity, has achieved the impossible.”_

Chungha hummed, a contemplative sound. “It sounds to me you are enamored, sweet prince.”

The heat suffusing Jongin’s cheeks intensified; his traitorous heart, seeming to somersault behind his ribs. _“Am I not allowed to appreciate and gush over a newfound friend without a deeper meaning?”_ His grousing sounded petulant; jutting out his lower lip probably did not help.

Chungha’s lips twitched, as if smothering a smile. “You have done nothing but smile since talking about him. That is not something you would have done in the past when talking about the many human treats you’ve taken from the rocks and kept for yourself. That is not something you would do at present, either, regardless of your excitement over the precious honey cakes you have been receiving from this fisherman.”

Defenseless, Jongin pouted harder, heart stirring harder against his will.

“Do not forbid yourself from experiencing good things,” Chungha said kindly. “Although you were betrayed and hurt deeply in the past, that doesn’t necessarily ring true for people you will meet in the future. There are many types of humans. The way I have never seen you talk so animatedly until this fisherman tells me of his positive impact.” She wrapped her frail, bony hands around Jongin’s larger ones. “Mayhaps this is your long-awaited answered prayer.”

 _“What if it’s not?”_ Jongin should have no reason to doubt Chungha. But expectations _could_ go wrong if he misread the cues, and gripped him in a moment of fear cold and merciless. _“What if this is punishment for my obliviousness? What if…”_

Chungha made soothing sounds that doubled as gentle hushing of Jongin’s worries. “I am aware of the worries and doubts you harbor. I have shared with you my knowledge on how to break the curse. You know two important details about it well. One is that this solution is simply an alternative as I cannot completely undo the curse with the sort of powers I currently have. The other is that you cannot rush it. You are only at the beginning of this new journey—let matters between you take on a natural progression. It is impossible to replicate genuine affection. You will know if this affection is the one you have been waiting for. The one key that will set you free once and for all.”

☆彡

Chungha introduced the cliffside cave to Jongin, having taken him here on the night he lost his legs.

Jongin honestly believed Changho was joking when he spoke of a curse. It was the details of what the curse entailed that planted the seed of fear in his heart, sprouting too quickly for his liking. On the rush back to the castle, Jongin sensed a new, faint pain blossoming on his legs, spreading and growing incessant with each hurried step. Thunder cracked and rumbled above him, cold rain pelting his skin. Sheer panic gripped him, terrified of what he might become. He near tripped on his own feet upon arriving inside the security of his castle, away from Changho and his curses. He was only forced to wrench open its giant doors once more, after some hesitation, to provide shelter for a drenched and least expected guest.

Chungha gave him a long, searching look. “I know of what you have done.”

Stunned speechless, jaw slackening with shock, fragmented accounts from marketplace wanderings rushed to the forefront of Jongin’s mind. Though welcomed, Chungha’s sudden appearance invited questions and hypotheses; real identity and birthplace, not spared. Many refused to entertain hearsay, reasoning that an elderly woman could not stir havoc; reprimanded those who were discourteous toward her. Few were distrustful, citing Chungha’s seemingly coincidental appearance at the time when fishermen first started going missing. Seamstress, the charmed townspeople called her; _witch_ , some whispered derisively behind her back.

Jongin never paid heed to the naysayers, until the very real possibility Chungha might be allies with Changho loomed.

“If you are… if you belong to Changho’s _kind_ , please take your leave right this instant.” Jongin wished his voice did not tremble. Wished he did not stumble on his words.

Chungha’s eyes narrowed, glinting with challenge. “And what is _my_ kind? Do tell me, sweet prince. In the numerous days you’ve spent in my humble shop lapping up my stories about mystical beings, surely you would know what I am called.”

Jongin scrambled backward, frantic, speechless. Outside, thunder roared and the rain beat down on the roofs. Chungha strode forward, a blue aura emitting from her form. Backed into a wall, nowhere to run, Jongin would either perish in the hands of someone he considered a friend, or the curse would soon take effect.

Chungha stood to a stop within an arm’s reach, aura bright, merriment suddenly crossing her face. “Silly, sweet prince. I should take offense you think so lowly of me that I would lay a hand on you. I have witnessed the ordeal at the shore from beginning to end. I believe you to be innocent. I would be the biggest fool across the sea and land if I handed you over to Changho.” She neither looked nor sounded like she was joking.

From the debris of Jongin’s quashed agitation came upset. “Why should I trust you?” He practically spat out the words. “Scaring me half to death, showing me this”—he hastily motioned to Chungha’s aura—” _spectacle_ —what makes you any different from Changho? Do you delight in playing with humans?”

“ _Never_ compare me to that contemptible sea scum.” Chungha sounded calm, but her words were laced with insult. It sounded genuine enough to Jongin’s ears. “We grew from the same womb, but I would sooner take a goblin shark as sibling than Changho.”

The after-effects of Chungha’s stunt stopped Jongin from fully trusting, but the distressing reality remained he did not know what to do from here. No amount of books written the world over, no amount of stockpiled knowledge gained from countless lessons and tutors prepared him for this unanticipated event of his life: receiving a curse that would transform him into a siren. All due to a scorned sea king who thought it just and right to take a vindictive stance against him for unreciprocated feelings.

“Can I really trust you?” Composure slowly returning, Jongin pushed down the clawing trepidation, determined to handle this with a clear mind.

“You have spent countless afternoons sitting with me in my shop while I spin garments and stories. Each time, you walked out unharmed. Unchanged. I do not fault you for acting chary. I will leave you to decide whether or not I harbor wicked intentions by approaching you.” Chungha’s voice took on a neutral tone, but her eyes showed a deep sadness.

After an unknown amount of time, the rain outside gradually halted. In the same amount of time, Jongin made his decision, one he prayed with all his might would not land him in deeper trouble. It was worth the brief look of disbelief on Chungha’s face; the slow spread of a smile in gratitude, in relief.

Placing a hand on her shoulder, Chungha chanted a spell in a language Jongin didn’t understand. Blue light appeared from the ground and formed a circle around them, spiraled upward, and then the castle surroundings were replaced by a dim, cold cave. As if sensing their arrival, lanterns hung on the cave walls lit up one by one, casting light on every corner of the dwelling. When Jongin peeked outside the cave, he was surprised to discover this was part of his property.

“Changho might be powerful as sea king, but his magic is not as effective on land. I have cast a concealment spell on this cave. He and his lackeys will not find you here. You are free to stay here for as long as you wish; however, once the curse takes effect, your body will no longer survive without seawater. Staying on land for long periods of time will become impossible.”

One candle of hope was snuffed out. “Is there no way to stop it?” Jongin asked, refusing to give up.

Chungha looked almost apologetic for what she said next. “I cannot undo the curse with the kind of powers I have. Once your transformation as siren is completed by morning, you will have no choice but to live in the sea. That would make you completely vulnerable to Changho’s schemes. As you have witnessed, he will do everything to possess you. I absolutely detest that you must pay an unnecessarily dear price for his bruised pride and one-sided delusion. You do not deserve it.

“And that is why I want to help you. I want to propose a solution.”

“What is it?” Jongin’s words came out rushed and breathless in anticipation.

“I shall provide you protection by casting the appropriate spell on you. This way, you can take my protection wherever you go, no matter how far you swim out at sea. My powers are not as strong in this form, so there are some enhancements I cannot do. This is as good as it gets. I guarantee, though, that he will be unable to harm you, and his enchantments will have no effect.” A short, heavy pause. “This protection comes with a price, I must say. My services do not come free.”

Jongin couldn’t say he was surprised. In some storybooks from his younger days, there was always something required in exchange as compensation or payment when making bargains with—he wanted to avoid describing Chungha like this, but w _itch_ rang loud and clear in his mind. At this point, he had nothing more to lose; and if he could not provide what Chungha wanted, he might as well strike another deal with her. But first, he needed to know:

“What do you seek as payment?”

Chungha pointed a gnarly finger at his throat. “Your voice, sweet prince. I require your voice as payment. I know what you must be wondering: how would you communicate with others if you lack a voice? Being siren cursed means you obtain the sensibilities as one. You will gain the ability to swim faster than the average human, breathe underwater without needing air for long periods of time. Most importantly, you will gain a mind link that will help you communicate with sea creatures and other sirens. You may not be able to use the physical power of voice to convey what you want to say, but they will be able to hear your thoughts.”

“You are too generous with your offer,” Jongin remarked, allowing himself a tiny smile. “Others would have taken advantage of my situation.”

Chungha’s smile showed gaps of missing teeth. “It is to prove not every sea folk you meet act similar to one another. Your kindness has also played a big influence on my willingness to help. If you accept my offer, I will do my best to help you break the curse. I will also return your voice. What say you, sweet prince?”

Jongin wasn’t sure how long he contemplated. The throbbing pain in his legs he’d been enduring the entire time was becoming unbearable. He might be too out of his consciousness to make rational decisions. Taking calming breaths, he vocalized his assent. No sooner than he did, the pain in his legs became sharper, brutal; stabbed like burning icicles shot from a crossbow. He fell to a kneel, hissed through his teeth in agony.

From the sleeve of her ratty coat, Chungha pulled out a bottle of shimmering silver liquid. “Hurry. You are transforming.”

The liquid smelled of salt and tasted like nothing as it slid down Jongin’s throat.

Seconds of nothing passed. Then, Jongin’s throat closed in on itself, tight, tighter, as if forcing something out. He felt like hurling but without the usual nausea. His suffering was not minimal: he clawed at his throat, mind fogging from the intolerable itch, the assault on his legs. The tortuous moment seemed to stretch on forever until either his throat or his stomach forced him to give one great heave, sans bile.

Jongin couldn’t tell how long his eyes stayed closed. He could only ascertain opening them, the itch in his throat gone. Standing once more to his feet, Jongin saw Chungha holding an open clam shell in one hand, and a tiny, round object glowing white floating to sit daintily inside it. Chungha shut the clam shell and secured it inside her sleeve.

How odd, Jongin thought, to see what his voice looked like. He gingerly patted his throat, feeling no considerable changes. He surmised the loss might not be felt until later.

Now, the pain in his legs demanded every bit of his attention. A tingling iciness spread from the waist down, and it felt like Jongin was losing control over his legs. He stumbled in a vain attempt at seeking warmth for his calves and shins. He broke his fall with his arms; tried and failed to stand several times.

The tingling worsened. His legs felt encased in ice, like they were being fused together. He tugged up a trouser leg, exposing the growth of fine scales on his flesh.

By the first light of the new day, Jongin emerged from the cave without a sound coming from his mouth and with a lustrous aquamarine tail.

☆彡

Time spent together with Sehun became more commonplace, as did the fluttering behind Jongin’s ribs.

He continued making sure Sehun’s nets weren’t empty during his early morning fishing trips. Most times Jongin couldn’t help himself and surfaced, showing himself up to his neck. Sometimes up to the philtrum, if he was in a playful mood and wanted to expose only half of his face. Sehun would sense him, anyway; know where to look. He’d give a tiny nod and smile as acknowledgment of his help, his presence. Jongin would return underwater, chest brimming with a kind of happiness that warmed him unlike the previous times.

Jongin would go about his day, depending on what he needed to do or captured his interest. If the crabs informed and led him to newly-sunk ships, he’d search for useful treasure or pretty trinkets. If Moonkyu visited, they further educated each other on human-siren similarities and differences. Then, once the noon sun hung high in the sky, Jongin swam to the edge of the shore and waited for Sehun to arrive with an impatience and excitement that sometimes scared him. Instead of crawling straight to shore, he hid behind the boulders and checked for signs of other humans first. He never had to hide for long: Sehun always arrived shortly after him, and by then would Jongin only feel at ease to come out.

Sehun shared his lunch with him, now, taking no for an answer and silencing Jongin’s protests by feeding him this or that. On some days, Jongin would open his container to find not only honey cakes but also tiny portions of every single food item found in Sehun’s. When asked, Sehun would reason he merely wanted to introduce him to other types and textures of human food that might agree with his palate. As thank you, Jongin insisted on giving Sehun a piece of honey cake—at first. The second time, Jongin brought the cake to Sehun’s lips, delighting in his furious blushing. Red on Sehun’s cheeks looked good, Jongin observed, as he fed him the cake down to the last morsel. It remained to be seen whether Sehun’s blush was a byproduct of him needing to lean in close to take a bite, or the gradual diminishing of the space between them every time to achieve it.

Jongin relished in his remaining honey cakes after successfully feeding one to Sehun, the taste of them seemingly sweeter. He’d make sure Sehun was watching him cleaning the crumbs off his fingers, if only to test how much redder his face could get. (The answer was red as cherries.)

Days where Sehun needed to leave right after lunch increased, citing the rising workload at the shipyard. More work meant more coin, Sehun told him. On rare occasions, they were paid in kind, such as a bag of potatoes or a sack of flour, which he appreciated and admitted were a huge help in saving a portion of his wages.

“Grandpa might have recovered from his illness, but I don’t want him working himself ragged. It’s why I decided to keep working at the shipyard. I want him to stay healthy. I can’t have him surviving on measly soup or stale bread. He needs a good diet at his age, and I can’t provide that if I don’t have money.”

_“Your grandfather must be very lucky to have you.”_

Sehun looked positively thrilled by the praise. “I do my best. It’s the least I can do for the only family I have left. How about you? Surely sirens have families, too?”

Jongin had two choices laid out before him. The words that poured out of his mouth revealed what he’d chosen. _“I have very little memory of my parents. My father sailed on an expedition and never returned. My mother nursed that heartbreak while raising me until she lost the strength to hold on. I mostly grew up with my nursemaid until I was of age.”_

Sehun’s shock was written all over his face. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. I did not mean to make you remember something sad.”

Jongin shook his head right away, reaching out to hold and squeeze Sehun’s hand to convey his assurance. _“It happened so long ago. It does not hurt anymore.”_

Sehun placed his free hand atop Jongin’s and squeezed back. “It must get lonely sometimes.”

Jongin hesitated a beat before slowly nodding. _“Sometimes. My nursemaid raised me in an environment surrounded by people who cared for and about me. They became the friends I needed who gave me happiness and made sure I was never lonely.”_

“I hope I’ve lessened your loneliness in some way, too.” Sehun’s hold on his hand tightened, a seriousness on his face Jongin had never seen before. “I hope the times we’ve spent together have made it bearable.”

Jongin basked in the warmth of his grip, the fluttering behind his ribs so strong it felt overwhelming. _“Of course.”_

Loneliness was not an entirely new situation to Jongin. He faced it in his first years of transformation, disheartened by the numberless difficulties and adjustments he had to do as a siren. It lessened when the sea creatures started befriending him, and further dwindling when he met Moonkyu. Chungha’s company became his initial lifeline on days she summoned him at the cliffside cave until he learned not to be too dependent. Jongin might live alone in his cave under the sea, and though loneliness visited him like an unwanted guest, it did not stay for long. It did not scare him to be by himself.

Though every time Sehun bade him goodbye to leave for the shipyard, Jongin would stay a little longer on the shore rather than diving back underwater like he usually did. Even after Sehun’s figure had long disappeared from view, even if the scorching heat of the sun was baking his skin, Jongin remained where he sat, looking far out into the distance. He wasn’t one to read too much into things, but the reluctance in Sehun’s steps seemed to become more pronounced in the subsequent noons since the first. Only a few hours of separation, Sehun promising to come back once his work was over, yet a chasm within Jongin repeatedly reared its head unannounced and ached with the kind of longing he hadn’t known until now.

The afternoons thereafter seemed to stretch on forever. Hours by himself were spent building sandcastles or random figures for fun, playing with the crabs and baby turtles that meandered his way, swimming with the belugas or sea otters if they could successfully cajole him into joining them. Having fun meant forgetting about the chasm, though he’d catch himself thinking it would be more fun if Sehun was here in repeated succession.

One afternoon veered off from its usual course.

After spending the hours playing and chatting with baby dolphins, Jongin sensed unusual movement at the rocks. Swimming close for a better, cautious look, Sehun’s sudden emergence on top of the rocks took him by surprise. His face was flushed, forehead glistening with sweat. The heaving of Sehun’s chest implied he had done some running. Even more peculiar than his surprise appearance was the look of enormous shyness as Sehun hopped from one smooth rock to the other to get close; closer. Jongin swam to meet him partway; noticed Sehun was hiding something behind his back.

 _“Do you have something for me?”_ Jongin joked, as a way of easing Sehun’s obvious nerves. Smiled, too, to further calm him.

It must’ve worked: Sehun looked more visibly relaxed, lips twitching into a minute smile. It was short-lived, however, form returning to its tense state. Jongin wondered its root cause; if he could do anything to chase it away.

Sehun crouched down on one knee and pulled a newly-bloomed red rose from behind his back, long-stemmed and thorn-free.

“I saw this rose from a passing merchant and thought about you. I couldn’t wait until later to give it to you. I took a gamble and rushed all the way here. Thank goodness I found you right away, or it would’ve been awkward loitering around until near sundown. What if you returned to your cave underwater? That would’ve been more tragic on my part.” Sehun spoke in a breathless rush, words jumbled together, flustered in a way Jongin witnessed for the first time. In the ensuing silence, he took a deep, calming breath and ran his free hand down his face. “Gracious. I must look like a fool right now.”

Jongin shook his head. He took the rose from Sehun’s awaiting hand, aware of his weighted gaze on him. He took a long, satisfying inhale of the poignant scent, suddenly awash with nostalgia of a garden he once tended in the castle together with the gardeners. _“This is a very beautiful rose. I haven’t seen one in a long, long time. Why the rush to give me this?”_

Sehun was blushing all the way to the tips of his ears, now. “I… I’m not sure. This was the most beautiful rose among the wide array of flower selections, and you came to mind. I thought the red suited you. No, I _believe_ the red rose suits you a lot. Looking at flowers reminds me of you, for some reason. But if I should compare you to a flower, it would have to be the red rose.” His gaze skittered away, an enormous shyness palpable through his words. “Sorry I’m not better at waxing poetic. I’m really bad with words, so this is taking a lot out of me, just so you know.”

Jongin caressed the velvety-soft petals. He hadn’t stopped smiling since Sehun appeared; he doubted it would slip off his face anytime soon. _“If you think of me from looking at flowers you see in your path every day, then you must think of me a lot of the time.”_

“And what if I do?” Sehun asked, a genuine inquiry that caught Jongin off-guard. His gaze returned to him, reduced in timidity this time. “You must not be aware, but did you know roses are not normally accessible to us? They’re exclusive to the monarchs, grown in their gardens, used to decorate their tables and halls during grand feasts and celebrations. I considered myself lucky enough to come across a merchant who sold the rose to me after a lot of wheedling. He probably thought I had no coin to pay for it, the judgmental man. I told myself if I was to give you a flower in the future, it would be the rose and nothing else.”

Jongin’s chest brimmed full with fondness. _“That is quite the dedication you have.”_

“I am quite dedicated when I have found a purpose,” Sehun said, no boasting, no arrogance; just sincerity, pure and true. “Running all the way here even at the risk of not possibly seeing you is one proof of it. I am not built to run, mind you. That should speak of something.”

Flattery hardly did anything to Jongin, raised in an environment where everyone showered him with praise in hopes of winning his favor. He couldn’t deny he was every bit as flattered right now. _“And what if I begin expecting roses from you every single day? Would that be a test of your dedication?”_

“If it will please you that much, I will do my best. I am no gardener’s son, but I shall study how to cultivate roses. Then I will search for a merchant who can sell me seeds so I can give you your very own rose garden.”

This time, Jongin sensed the beginning of his own blush. It was hard not to respond to a wholehearted proposal. _“Do not make promises you cannot keep,”_ he chided, though the words lacked the expected force of a scolding.

Sehun’s eyes shone with determination, anxiousness that once lingered now completely gone from his body, his face. He extended an arm far out into the water to brush away the hair from Jongin’s eyes, intensifying his already-frenzied heartbeat. “You are blessed I am a man of my word, then.”

☆彡

Roses did not grow in a fortnight, and gardens did not flourish in a heartbeat. Both needed plenty of time, patience, determination, and care to thrive.

Jongin was touched just the same when Sehun brought him roses if it was within his means. It might not have been every single day, but the roses he received were always newly-bloomed and the brightest of reds. He couldn’t take the roses with him to his underwater abode, so he gathered and kept them in the cliffside cave for posterity. He did not own a fancy vase or any acceptable vessel, but he found an old wicker basket—one of his earliest shipwreck finds—and collected them there.

On days he could not bring roses, Sehun brought him other gifts. Sweets he thought Jongin might like he ended up consuming more. Jongin didn’t mind in the least; encouraged him to eat them if he liked what he tasted. Sometimes, Sehun convinced him to try a piece, and the resulting grin Jongin witnessed if he indulged him was always worth the playful refusal.

One late afternoon, Sehun was immersed in telling a story about the friendships he formed at the shipyard. Jongin listened—or tried his best, but his nodding or shaking of head, together with the continuous breeze blowing in from the sea, kept whipping his hair across his face. He gathered his hair to one side, having grown long enough to reach the space between his shoulder blades and warranting a pending engagement with Chungha’s scissors.

“Is your hair bothering you?” Sehun asked, whom Jongin noticed had been watching him with rapt attention.

 _“Not quite.”_ A stronger breeze blew this time, stray strands blown into Jongin’s eyes.

After his first full year as a siren, Jongin’s hair had grown past his waist it became meddlesome. It kept twining around his torso when swimming; stuck to his skin like uncomfortable tentacles of an octopus when sunbathing. The moment they reunited, he had begged Chungha to cut his hair. Chungha had tried to change his mind. Jongin had insisted he did not like his hair, of all things, interfering with his movements while swimming, no matter how pleasant it looked flowing behind his back. Mirrors were hard to come by in shipwrecks—or anywhere under the sea, in general—so he could only guess what he might look like with long, unkempt hair. They came to an agreement Jongin could have his hair shorn every three months, if he wanted. Chungha hadn’t been able to fulfill her hair-shearing duties recently, hands full with rallying allies; thus, the uncomfortably-long hair.

“That’s not a convincing answer,” Sehun said, then pulled out something from his sack: a leather barrette with a rose design and a stick. “Do you want to try this? Jihyun and Jinhee use a similar accessory to prevent their hair from getting into their faces while doing chores. Their mothers tell me leather lasts relatively longer if it gets accidentally soaked in seawater.”

Sehun sat behind Jongin after gaining permission and gathered his hair with gentle fingers. His touch was light—Jongin barely felt what Sehun was doing to his hair, and was further surprised by the soft announcement of finishing. Jongin patted at the back of his head gingerly, trying to figure out what Sehun had done. From what he could make out, Sehun had twisted his hair into a bun and secured it with the leather barrette. The stick held both in place, so Jongin was free to turn his head every which way freely. A moment of rifling in his rucksack produced a mirror case, which Sehun handed to him.

Jongin hadn’t seen his face in five years since transforming. He couldn’t even remember what he looked like on his last night as human. Whatever images and memories he fought hard to preserve unknowingly turned murkier over time. He opened the mirror case with a nervous heart and almost dropped it in shock. Steeling himself, he looked into the mirror again. The longer he stared, the more he ascertained this was his face. This was him staring right back, matured over five years, angular contours to his once boyish face the proof he had grown into his features. His hair looked soft in the sunlight, its golden brown shade proof he was his mother’s son.

“Do you like what you see?” Sehun asked, reminding Jongin he wasn’t alone.

Jongin looked at his face a few more times from every possible angle then nodded his head, a smile tugging at his mouth. _“I do.”_

“Me, too. Very much.” Sehun’s heavy, intense stare spoke volumes.

Instead of shying away from the praise and attention, Jongin accepted both with a wider smile. He turned the mirror case the opposite way so Sehun’s reflection now showed in it. “ _With a face like yours, I doubt you wouldn’t like what you’d see every morning.”_

Sehun placed a palm flat on his chest and shook his head with dramatic flair. “I cannot do anything if the gods molded me to look like this.”

Though said in jest, Jongin’s eyes widened at the brazen remark. _“The gods will renounce you for your arrogance.”_

“Then the gods should not have made me too handsome if they are unable to stand competition.” Sehun’s responding grin was as cheeky as his answer.

The nights seemed to stretch on far longer than usual now that Jongin looked forward to the beginning of each day more and more. Apart from his unending hope to break the curse, he couldn’t remember wanting something so much with his whole heart. _Someone_ , even, and the magnitude of his desire scared him at times. During bouts of sleeplessness, Jongin wondered if this truly was his answered prayer; if he should carry on with his cautious optimism, or expect rejection to strike him like a snake lying in wait. Whichever result, Jongin could not impose his wishes or feelings on the other person—on Sehun—or influence their emotions to do as he pleased. It was dishonest in many ways Sehun did not deserve.

Too deep in this course of newfound, precious happiness did an important matter inevitably slipped from Jongin’s mind.

“The full moon is nearing,” Moonkyu commented offhandedly, on their return from a short journey to root around in the five-day old shipwreck on the southern part of the sea. “The tides are rising higher and turning wilder. The sea animals are getting restless in their distress. My fellow sirens, they have started going into hiding.”

Full moons did not bode well for Jongin; to the sea and its inhabitants, as well. On its onset, Changho the Ruthless’ powers spiraled to exorbitant levels, posing as a real and immediate threat to everyone who dared stand in his way. On its onset, Chungha the Raconteur’s powers drastically waned—almost nonexistent—and tore away the protections spell cast on him. Its absence left Jongin vulnerable to Changho, who launched several attempts into forcibly taking him hostage many full moons since. Intent on resisting to his last breath, Jongin stayed in the cliffside cave for an entire night, depending on the concealment spell and sheer luck to carry him through to sunrise.

The nights leading up to the full moon were equally unsettling.

The first sign was the rise in violent storms being summoned; more sirens going missing or perishing. These were the times Jongin detested his siren hearing, clapping his hands over his ears to block the townspeople’s terrified screams and bone-chilling sobs upon finding the washed-up bodies on the shore. He did not need to know what they looked like, but he prayed they would find peace wherever their souls drifted after death.

Next were the gifts. Bribes, as Jongin called them, finding chests of priceless pearls and trinkets stored in chests by the entrance of his cave when he rose in the mornings. Jongin did not find the gesture heartfelt. He never touched the chests, never spared them a second glance on his swim out.

The black eel’s appearance was more ominous around this time. Changho’s voice coming out of its mouth sounded infinitely deplorable uttering sweet words this, sweeter promises that. Jongin refused entertaining his drivel; stood with his shoulders set as he drove the eel away, rejecting his intimidation and tirelessly holding on to his conditions before appearing in court. Tonight he did the same.

“I have been informed you are seeing a human man who takes fish from the sea and uses it for monetary gain.”

Jongin’s blood froze in his veins.

“So my informants are right.” Changho’s voice had never sounded thicker in his malicious glee, after Jongin failed to come up with a response. “I have also been told you seem taken by this human man, going out of your way to meet him and spend time dilly-dallying on the shore.”

Jongin scowled, hands clenching into fists. _“You shall not lay a hand on him. This feud must stay between us.”_

Changho’s grating laughter poured out of the eel’s open mouth. Its red eyes glowed brighter than before. “Why so defensive, fair one? Will you not tell me about this human man? Should I take the liberty of introducing myself to him? I would be more than delighted to take him down to my court so he would know his place.”

The words sounded like nothing if taken at face value, but the thinly-veiled threat stitched into every syllable rang real, palpable as it was serious. Destroying ships and treating humans as game were but a tiny fraction of what Changho was capable of scheming on a full moon. Twice the number of casualties on par with twice the savagery. Jongin couldn’t bear the thought of Changho’s cruelty falling on Sehun.

This meant exercising greater precaution on Jongin’s part, making sure to check thrice for suspicious-looking sea creatures lurking around that could follow him to the surface. He reminded himself to ask Chungha if she could do anything for Sehun. For now, he would have to do it himself; try to protect him with his own hands. The logical choice would be to stop going to shore altogether to keep Sehun safe, yet the prospect of avoiding him felt a million times more unendurable.

“Are you traveling somewhere without me?” Sehun’s amused voice cut through his daze, a day later. “You’re right in front of me, but your mind seems someplace else. Care to take me with you?” His teasing wasn’t missed in the last sentence.

 _“Suppose, in the future, misfortune befalls you because of me. Would you resent me for it?”_ Jongin asked, not bothering to hedge. He considered not saying anything, at first; but if the scandalous bodice rippers he accidentally found in the hired help’s quarters when he was a child taught him anything, trouble _always_ followed whenever the protagonists chose to keep secrets from their most cherished persons.

Sehun’s eyes widened in a comical fashion. “This is an unexpected question.” He dipped his fingers in the water, as if buying time. Shoulder to shoulder they sat on the overlap after Jongin complained of dryness on his tail sitting too long on the pure sand. Now, his tail was submerged; Sehun, long legs stretched out before him, trousers rolled up to his knees but soaking wet. “What kind of misfortunes are we talking about?”

Jongin carefully crafted his next reply. _“The sea king is determined to make your life miserable.”_

Sehun opened and closed his mouth, no sound or word leaving. “So _that_ is your meaning.” He flicked the dripping water away from his fingers. “I do not think my existence important enough for the sea king to deliberately single me out. In case he does, I’ll show him I’m not someone he can bully as he pleases. My mother always told me to fight back if someone dared step on me. Many things I can tolerate, I’d like to think; but unfair treatment? Not in my wildest dreams. My mother would reel in her grave from the shame I would stain her name with.”

Jongin startled at the intimate detail shared so casually. Sehun must’ve sensed it because he said right away, “Don’t worry, I’m not sad about it anymore. It happened a long time ago, before Grandpa showed up to take me with him to move here. I like this town better, anyway. In the neighborhood where my family used to live, the people only liked you for two things: money and how deep your similarities ran.”

An opportunity for inquiries showed itself at the end of the statement. Jongin had those but thought it better for Sehun to impart them on his own. Based on Sehun’s somber expression, their conversation might have prompted some unpleasant memories he’d rather forget.

Jongin’s hand found Sehun’s and cradled it between his own. _“I want you to be careful when you’re out at sea from now on. There is no telling what the sea king might do to you.”_

“Oh, you were serious about that?” Sehun’s eyes widened in a comical fashion for the second time, surprise evident in his voice. “Alright. If it will make you worry less, I shall heed your warning. But… how exactly does the sea king know of my existence? Why is he only targeting me? Have I done anything to offend him?”

 _“It’s because of me.”_ Jongin’s gaze dropped to their joined hands. _“The sea king intends to harm you because of me.”_

Sehun listed his head in the way it did when he didn’t understand something right away. His eyes shone with curiosity; and then, the slow unfurling of realization on his features tinged with doubt.

“Is the sea king besotted with you?” The inquiry was as innocent as Sehun’s expression.

_“At the risk of coming off vain, unfortunately so.”_

“I see.” Sehun blew out a sigh, expression contemplative. “I do not find this hard to believe. Who would _not_ be besotted with you? I find it funnier the sea king would see me as competition.”

Jongin lifted his head first; an eyebrow next. _“And are you not? You are a fitting contender.”_

“If you say so, maybe I am.” Sehun smiled, cheeks pinkened by the flattery. “Perhaps it is my pride talking when I say I do not wish to lose. But, to be truthful, I want no part in this competition that treats you like some sort of prize, as if you cannot think for yourself. You are no one’s trophy. You should choose who to be with out of your own volition.”

Sehun extracted his hand from Jongin’s hold. Jongin would’ve chased it back if not for Sehun moving faster, this time wrapping both of his hands in a warm, reassuring grip that set off the frenzied fluttering behind his ribs he could now confidently identify and face. “I do not want to think of rivals or immature sea kings. For now, let me adore you in ways I know how.”

The next morning, Jongin swam to the new fishing spot he recently introduced to Sehun. This part of the sea was less traversed and contained plentier schools of fish despite the larger distance from the shore. The usual fishing spots weren’t as abundant in the past; some of the fishermen struggled to fill basins to the brim lately. Jongin guessed the fishes were stressed out by the coming full moon and what it entailed; hence, diving deeper down below to safety.

Jongin glided closer to Sehun’s boat the second he spotted it. A sudden uneasiness trickled down his spine. He couldn’t put a finger to it until his ears caught the agitated shouting of fishermen above. Around him, sea animals big and small were frantically swimming away. Alarmed, Jongin hurried to the surface until he found the source of the fishermen’s distress.

Big, choppy waves, unnatural at this hour of the day, rocked the fishing boats and scattered in all directions. Nets tore apart; fishes escaped in a rush. Fishermen tried desperately to salvage what remained of their catch, some abandoning theirs for good to prioritize their safety. Warnings were fired from every direction. Jongin’s head spun from the chaos, pulse drumming too hard and too fast. He narrowly avoided collision with a fishing boat; scolded himself for not paying better attention. He made sure none of the fishermen had fallen into the water before launching another search on Sehun.

About six boats away did he find Sehun and his boat. Large, rolling waves struck the boat, forcefully pushing it further away from the others. Sehun, soused but with a determined set to his jaw, made a valiant attempt at maneuvering the boat away from the waves. He looked to be succeeding—until a wave successfully struck the side of his boat unsuspecting and overset it at once. Sehun was tossed over, falling into the water with a resounding splash.

Jongin’s heart nearly lurched out of his chest. He returned underwater, swam rapidly to the spot where he saw Sehun fall. Amid the debris of torn nets and lost belongings, the head of dark hair and flailing limbs were unmistakable. Sehun was entangled in the nets, tearing at them in his struggle to free himself. Jongin picked up his speed but was stopped abruptly by the sudden formation of whirlpools. Another unnatural phenomenon, heightening Jongin’s suspicion as the whirlpools closed in on him. He placed a safe distance between him and the wild suction of the whirlpools—if he got sucked into one, he would fail in his mission to rescue Sehun.

Jongin caught a slight movement to his right. He turned to check, but it was gone. He thought he was hallucinating, at first. Another slight movement, this time bigger, and disappearing as fast as it appeared. By the third attempt, he saw something bell-shaped expanding, contracting—repeat. Translucent, sort of ghost-like. Hanging beneath the head were thin, ribbon-long, slimy-looking appendages.

A smack of agile jellyfish skated their way toward Sehun, who was still preoccupied attaining freedom from the nets. Gut-wrenching fear twined with panic and coiled around Jongin’s insides. He recognized this type of jellyfish with their near see-through forms and tentacles. He knew one sting was lethal. And their tentacles curled and uncurled threateningly, aiming for Sehun’s flesh.

Jongin’s mind emptied of everything else except for one goal. Relying on sheer courage and steel resolve, he swam quick and away from the whirlpools deliberately blocking his path. He feinted left then darted for the right if they followed his movements, and vice versa, always one millisecond faster, two steps ahead.

All the while he kept close watch on Sehun as much as he could. After swimming around the last whirlpool, he realized Sehun must’ve grown awareness of the jellyfishes’ presence once the nets fell away from him. Stealth busted, the jellyfish sped forward. Sehun used the remnants of the fishing net and threw it over the charging jellyfishes as a makeshift barrier to throw off their attack. He paid attention to where he held the nets, kept it at arm’s length to avoid their tentacles.

Except Sehun didn’t notice one managed escape and snuck up behind him, tentacles at the ready.

Jongin defied the throbbing of his tail and the burn in his lungs to reach Sehun on time. He grabbed Sehun around the torso and pulled him out of the jellyfish’s reach. A new smack of jellyfish materialized from nowhere, aim similar as the others. Jongin didn’t release Sehun from his hold as he swam them up, up, up; far, far, far away from the jellyfish and the whirlpools and everything else Changho could use to execute his diabolical plans. As long as Sehun was out of the water, Changho could not do him harm.

Jongin swam shoreward without looking back, hauling Sehun out of the water upon arriving and pushed him toward the rocks. He was half out of the water, chest heaving and aching for air; heartbeat pounding in his ears. It must’ve been at deafening levels since he didn’t register Sehun was talking to him, a panicked look to his face. Jongin barely registered anything, though in the time his heartbeat calmed did something else started cutting through the fog in his mind.

A scalding sensation rapidly spreading through his left arm, like the continuous dripping of hot wax on his skin. Jongin opened his mouth but could produce neither sound nor scream from the breath-stealing intensity of the blistering pain. He squeezed his eyes shut, as if it could help alleviate the searing, hot-white agony on his arm.

When Jongin opened his eyes again, he almost didn’t recognize his surroundings.

A high ceiling above him. Windowed walls, sunlight spilling in through the glass. His back was against something solid and disconcertingly cold—a porcelain bathtub, shocking him wide awake. The lower half of his body was submerged in water, but closer inspection told Jongin something was mixed into it based on the floating particles and its suspicious-looking whiteness. His hurt arm was stretched out across the bathtub’s side and immersed in a separate basin. The basin stood on top of stacked books set on a chair so it was the same height as the bathtub and less stress on his arm. The water in the basin was warm, the color of dried autumn leaves, but emitted a stringent, acidic scent.

Jongin took in his surroundings at a slower pace for the second time. Every window ledge caked with dust, every grimy glass pane in need of wiping, every cobwebbed corner and dusty floor tile—dingy state aside, the surge of nostalgia caught him unaware as memories of early childhood inundated him. This was the bathroom built solely for his use. He’d bathed here many times growing up, assisted mostly by his mother; his nursemaid, when she had long passed, and then by himself, when he was grown and considered old enough to wash himself without the risk of wasting water or flooding the space. It didn’t change after becoming a grownup. He relished those long minutes of privacy when the world came to a temporary standstill and he could be an ordinary young man unwinding after a long, long day; not as the prince whom everyone looked up to for important court decisions.

Jongin tried piecing together how he could have possibly ended up here; why his arm was soaked in water that contrasted in color and temperature compared to the bathtub’s contents. He carefully raised his soaked arm. The scent wafting from it became stronger, had him wrinkling his nose. Enlightenment soon came as he identified the scent as vinegar, though he wondered why.

The questions disappeared the moment he saw the welts on his arm. They were angry red and raised, crisscrossing almost his entire forearm in thin, erratic lines. They were unsightly, difficult to look at for long. Tried as he might, Jongin couldn’t tear his gaze away, morbidly fascinated but also curious about his surprising survival after the attack.

“You’re awake!” Sehun’s loud, relieved voice rang from the doorway. He sprinted the rest of the way but avoided the chair. His eyebrows furrowed when he saw Jongin’s affected arm raised in mid-air. “You’re not supposed to remove that arm from the basin. Put it back. The pain should fade after the water has cooled.”

Doing as instructed, Jongin’s questions began surfacing one by one. _“What happened? Why am I here?”_

“You passed out, probably from the jellyfish sting. I couldn’t let you stay out there. Seawater can worsen it, so I thought of sneaking you into this castle. I know, I know; I could very well be arrested for trespassing, but I was desperate! It was an emergency! I searched for the biggest bathroom, saw the bathtub, and put you inside. I had to wash your arm with vinegar—sorry if you don’t like the smell. I’m unsure if it’s dumb luck or what, but my emergency bag was washed ashore. I always take that bag with me when I go fishing. We’re lucky the vinegar bottle didn’t break.

“Then I had to pluck the tentacles stuck on your arm after. Grandpa always told me soaking the stung area in hot water helps in neutralizing the venom. Does your arm hurt? Does anything hurt? Tell me, please, so I can help you.” Sehun looked and sounded breathless by the end of his explanation, a bit wound up but the concern on his face was undeniably real.

Aside from a slight discomfort in his armpit and the side of his neck from staying stationary in one position too long, Jongin felt no pain from his stung arm. He wriggled his fingers; clenched and unclenched his fist. _“I am feeling fine, so far. My arm does not hurt.”_

Sehun heaved out his biggest, deepest sigh of relief since meeting him. Tension draining away from his entire body, he sank to the floor and slumped against the bathtub in a way that was almost concerning. Jongin’s right hand was then caught in Sehun’s trembling clasp and pressed the back of it against his forehead. “Thank the heavens you’re out of harm’s way.” His shoulders shook. A sniffle escaped his lips, the bottom of it quivering.

Jongin sat upright the best he could and leaned forward, stunned by the tears welling in Sehun’s eyes and trickling down his cheeks. He tried getting a better look at Sehun’s face. Sehun rejected the move by squeezing Jongin’s hand and pressing it tighter against his forehead, as if that alone was enough to hide his tearstained face.

Abandoning his first intention, Jongin bore with the dull pain in his left arm to gently thread his fingers through Sehun’s hair. He marveled at its surprising softness; repeated the motions to soothe him. Now given a concrete idea of what doing this felt like, he didn’t think he could return to the time he satisfied himself with simply wondering. _“Why are you shedding tears, silly?”_

A full-on sob escaped Sehun’s throat this time. He stumbled on his syllables through his blubbering. “I’m just beside myself with joy that nothing drastic happened to you. That I moved fast enough to prevent the inevitable. That you’re still here.”

 _With me,_ was the unvoiced implication, but Jongin needn’t hear it aloud. He felt it, Sehun’s intentions and Sehun’s purity, with his entire heart. The heartfelt relief for his well-being was one Jongin scarcely encountered but immensely treasured.

Jongin continued soothing Sehun tirelessly, trailing his fingers through the dark strands and scratching his scalp on occasion until he calmed down. An indeterminate amount of time passed before Sehun decided he was brave enough to face him but without breaking their linked hands. Sehun’s face was splotchy, red from the tears; nose runny, a childlike innocence in the way he gazed at Jongin as if ascertaining he was real and in front of him.

The subsequent but comfortable silence was spent just basking in each other’s presence until it was time to replace the cooled water in the basin. Sehun took a trip to the kitchens and returned with an explanation of having mixed salt in the tub water; hence, the particles and whitish quality.

_“Salt? Why?”_

"You’re a siren. Sirens need seawater to live and for your tail to not itch. I couldn’t haul buckets of seawater hours ago, so I had to stick with an alternative. I thought it was a smart move, but I could be wrong.” Sehun looked bashful admitting this. It melted and gave way to seriousness when he added, “Remember: you can’t put your left arm inside the tub. It might affect the sting. Don’t risk it.”

 _“I heard you.”_ Jongin smiled. _“How did you come up with the idea of mixing salt with water? I do not think this castle, old and abandoned as it is, will have a fresh supply of it stored in its cupboards.”_

“Oh. That? Umm…” Sehun looked and sounded hesitant. A rare event. “You might not believe this, but Chungha the Raconteur magically appeared out of nowhere and gave me a pack of salt. She suggested I take you here and gave me directions where to pass through. She disappeared right after—gone, just like smoke! What a bizarre experience, even if she was helpful.” Red dusted his cheeks as he told Jongin, “Oh, my manners; you might now know about Chungha the Raconteur. She’s the town’s best seamstress who shares so many stories from her travels. The children love her. Some townspeople gossip behind her back that she’s a witch instead of a seamstress. I don’t really believe that.

“By the way, I encountered something _more_ bizarre than Chungha the Raconteur.” A lost and conflicted expression darted over Sehun’s face. “I was searching for the kitchens after placing you in the bathtub during your unconscious state. I had to cross the main hallway to get there, apparently, but that wasn’t the most peculiar thing. On the wall of the grand staircase hung a portrait. It was covered with a thick layer of dust, so I couldn’t see the face clearly. I wiped away what I could, and…”

The silence weighed heavy upon the still air. Jongin’s eyes fluttered close, expelling a soft sigh, and looked at Sehun’s expectant face.

_“That portrait was taken when I turned twenty. My mother insisted I sit for one every time I turned a year older. I broke my promise after becoming a siren. It’s been five years since.”_

Immediate understanding dawned on Sehun’s features, his widened eyes. He opened and closed his mouth several times. “It’s you,” he said, upon finding his voice again, and the words came out in a breathless rush. “You’re the prince. You’re the center of all the tall tales I’ve heard about.” He lapsed into contemplative silence. Jongin could hear the cogs of his mind turning. “Wait. All those witch rumors about Chungha the Raconteur…” He paled. “Should I not have accepted her help?”

Jongin shook his head. _“Contrary to what you’ve heard and what the tales claim, she has been helping me the entire time. You told me before about refusing to believe in tall tales and rumors so easily. Does that not apply to this situation?”_

“Some witches are cunning, you know. They might appear unsuspectingly helpless to gain your trust, then offer help at your most desperate, and appear again one day to seek payment when you never agreed to anything.” Sehun shook his head; let out a sound of amazement. “If it wasn’t Chungha the Raconteur who turned you into a siren, who did? What happened five years ago, exactly?”

And so Jongin helped him parse the truths from the lies in the spread rumors and tales; told him it was Changho the Ruthless—the sea king—who could not accept his affections weren’t returned or viewed the way he wished. By bestowing the curse upon Jongin, Changho had expected him to seek his help since he was the only one capable of reversing the curse. He told Sehun of the ploys and tricks Changho pulled so Jongin would yield. He told Sehun about Chungha’s role in this, what she had done for him thus far. He told Sehun everything, seeing no reason to keep him in the dark any longer, encouraged by the absence of negative reactions—just pure understanding, and anger on his behalf for Changho’s narrow-mindedness.

“The moon will soon be on its fullest. You can’t go back out at sea. It would be too dangerous for you.” Sehun paused, working out his thoughts. “You spoke of a cliffside cave, but you have been stung by a jellyfish, and your arm cannot be exposed to seawater. It might impede your recovery. Wouldn’t it be better to stay here, in your own castle? You should do it for your own sake more than anything. I will help you go back to the waters after the full moon has completely waned.”

Jongin nodded. _“I agree. I am determined, and at times stubborn, but I am no fool. I will stay where Changho and his magic cannot reach me. And if it has to be here, then so be it.”_

Sehun’s gaze swept around the bathroom. “This space needs a ton of cleaning. The entire castle does, frankly. Oh, that reminds me: I happened to peek out the windows in one of the hallways and saw a large space that could pass off as a garden. Which hallway? The west hallway. It _was_ a garden? Huh. I can finally fulfill my promise of giving you a rose garden.”

Heat scored Jongin’s cheeks. Silly as it was, but he was flattered Sehun remembered such tiny details.

“You definitely weren’t joking about the sea king targeting me. I should be in your place now if it wasn’t for you. You have my deepest gratitude.” Sehun held Jongin’s hand, but this time, he brushed the lightest kiss upon his knuckles. “I do not have powers like the sea king, and I do not think I possess immense physical strength to fend off enemies if they come my way. But, even so, I would still like to protect you in ways I can. If you will let me. I do not take you for a damsel in distress. But if you rely on me during your times of plight, I will go all out to not have that faith broken.”

Was it possible for his fondness to increase beyond tenfold over someone who took him into consideration with every thought and decision, showed great concern for his welfare without expecting anything in return? Was it possible for his chest to fill with a multitude of emotions it threatened to overflow due to its limited size?

Jongin was unsure if he would find the answers to these questions. He was unsure if he would find them in this lifetime at all. He was definitely certain of a few things, regardless. One was a pure, genuine heart such as Sehun’s deserved to be cared for and cherished. Another was that despite the copious feelings Sehun incited in him, the way he felt safe and assured from just being in his presence was doubtlessly unmatched.

☆彡

Cynicism was Jongin’s unseen companion after becoming a newly-transformed siren.

He loathed the mere sight of his tail, his foolishness in believing there was good in everyone; that kindness was more a weakness than strength, the very trap that lured him to be set up. He despised what he had become; the bitter reality he would have to live like this for the rest of his life.

On rare moments of self-doubt, he wondered if his pride was too high for stubbornly refusing to seek out Changho but stopped himself from spiraling further down a path of dangerous thoughts. If this was his interpretation of “love,” Jongin wanted no part of it. He highly suspected Changho might not keep his word, the deceitful siren, now aware of what he could accomplish.

 _“Is there any way to break the curse that does not involve yielding to Changho and his caprices?”_ Jongin asked, on the very first full moon he spent in the security of the cliffside cave. He hugged his tail to his chest as a spit crackled between him and Chungha, soaking up its warmth on this chilly night. Communicating using mostly hands and sometimes body language had been the most challenging part of the siren transformation, frustrations abound almost every time when he kept forgetting he could not produce any sound.

“Silly, sweet prince, why must you be so bleak in your outlook? There is always light at the end of this seemingly long darkness.” Chungha chided, toothless smile emphasizing her teasing. Around her neck hung the clam shell necklace where Jongin’s voice was kept for safety, and insurance.

Jongin did not deign her with a response. Chungha must intuit his dissatisfaction with her answer, for she huffed, and, with a heave and groan, walked around the fire to sit beside him. She put an arm around his shoulders in an offer of comfort. “Listen to me, sweet prince. A curse born from vitriol and resentment is a hard curse to break. It does not mean powerful curses do not contain weaknesses. I confided in you the two ways to break the curse, remember? One is resisting Changho for as long as you can while I bid my time to overthrow him. For the second method, what you need will have to come from here.” She pointed a finger to his chest, right where his heart beat.

Jongin knew more or less what Chungha pertained. He simply avoided calling it as such. He’d read countless stories about similar situations across his books, but did not dare assume it would be a plausible solution to his problem. Though he could suspend disbelief with fictional entertainment, it seemed rather fantastical if applied to reality.

“You need to believe in the magic of these things,” Chungha told him, as if she had snuck a peek at his thoughts. “You might not believe in it, but your disbelief does not cancel out the truth. But like all things, it is not something you cannot deliberately seek or ask from those you meet in the future. It has to come naturally, be given unconditionally, and come in its purest form. My abilities do not include seeing, so I cannot tell you when your prayer will be answered. But it is not an excuse to stop believing and hoping. _Never_ stop believing and hoping. The moment you do, you’ve already lost.”

☆彡

The jellyfish sting required tending thrice a day. Sehun religiously boiled water for Jongin’s arm, insisting this was necessary so he wouldn’t be in the slightest bit of pain during the first few after-days. He told him when the pain completely subsided, the welts would stay for a while. Jongin couldn’t do anything about that; consciously avoided looking at his marred arm for most of the time so he wouldn’t be upset. He did not regret saving Sehun. He just wished he had been faster to avoid the sting. In the end, it didn’t matter. The welts would fade, but the event associated with it Jongin would forever remember.

Jongin came to expect Sehun’s morning visits before first light broke to avoid drawing unwanted attention and questions from nosy townspeople. He brought with him the appropriate medicine and other necessities Jongin would request of him last night. The real challenge laid in changing the bathtub water, another responsibility Sehun took upon himself. Jongin told him where to find the well at the south of the castle. The first time he went to fetch water and succeeded, Sehun returned carrying filled buckets in each hand. Sehun excitedly reported to him the abundance of clean water it contained despite years of non-usage.

Sehun changed the bathtub water on mornings and evenings. If he was freer in the afternoons, with no business that required urgent tending at the shipyard, he would do his best at cleaning to ensure the bathroom was inhabitable. Sitting in the bathtub, Jongin watched Sehun wiping windows, scrubbing floors, sweeping dust, and clearing the cobwebs (after mumbling an apology to the spiders, and a plea to not attack him). Cleaning the bathtub posed the most challenging. Their brainstormed solution seemed initially outrageous, but it worked. After much laughter and playful banter, Jongin was temporarily transferred to the largest wooden vat Sehun found in the kitchens. It was a little close-fitting, Jongin having to twist this way and that to get comfortable and accommodate his tail. He bore with it if only to watch Sehun diligently scrubbing the tub clean, pouring water and mixing salt for his tail, then carrying and placing Jongin back inside.

Tonight, Sehun poured the last of the bucket into the bathtub, not quite filling it to the brim so it wouldn’t spill over if Jongin moved. Jongin’s tail was surprisingly too long for the bathtub, the end of it hanging off the edge. He’d sit up and peel off his back from the bathtub most times since it put a strain on his muscles if he reclined for too long. Most times, he rested his arms on the bathtub edge and pillowed his chin on top of them while watching Sehun move about.

Sehun mixed two handfuls of salt into the water, stirring with his hand. “Is the salt enough? Are you comfortable?”

 _“One more handful, please.”_ Sehun obliged, and Jongin nodded in satisfaction once his tail agreed with the salt mixture. _“This is fine. Thank you, as always.”_

Sehun smiled, pleased. Setting aside the pack of salt and buckets, he proceeded to occupy the chair situated beside the bathtub. Next to it was a small table, a pile of books sitting atop. “What story do you want to hear tonight?”

Every night since returning here, like a memory lifted right out from his childhood days, Sehun had been reading to him until drowsiness clutched his mind in its inescapable grip. Jongin’s literacy had not disappeared in his years of living out at sea; rather, staying confined in a bathtub for majority of the day bored him out of his mind, further exacerbated by his immobility. He had enlisted Sehun’s help to procure books from the library to help him pass the time while awaiting his next visit. Due to his hurt arm, Jongin had depended on his right hand to hold the book open while reading. Except his right hand’s grip had always been clumsier, resulting in one or two books accidentally falling into the water, soused beyond repair.

Jongin had then conjured the brilliant idea to convince Sehun to read to him instead of ruining more books. Sehun’s face had shown hesitance and shyness after hearing the request; revealed, after much gentle and patient coaxing, that his education was limited. Sehun could read and write enough to get him by, but his vocabulary was limited; feared butchering the pronunciation of words, give away his ignorance of their definitions. Understanding his plight but determined to turn it into a positive experience, Jongin had promised to teach Sehun how to read words, explain their meanings. The pure happiness on Sehun’s face every single time his vocabulary had expanded lit a joy in his heart like no other.

Jongin pointed to the third book from the top. Sehun carefully slid it out from the pile: a collection of short stories and fables. Together they chose a story from the table of contents, and then Sehun began reading to him in his low, soothing voice. Jongin leaned in close, careful not to put pressure on his healing arm as he folded it on the edge and lightly rested his cheek on top. He focused on the story coming to life by the narration; his eyes fixed on Sehun’s face, expressions matching what the current scene required. The light from the candlesticks behind them cast a soft, warm glow on Sehun’s face, well-defined features softened and near delicate. This wasn’t the first time Jongin saw him in this angle, and it wasn’t the first time he thought him handsome.

“Are you listening to me?”

Sehun was looking at him, one eyebrow raised, mouth quirked in an amused smile.

Heat seeped into Jongin’s cheeks. _“Of course I am. Just because I might be looking somewhere else doesn’t mean I’ve fallen to absolute distraction.”_

“Is that so?” Sehun’s voice sounded playful, though a mild challenge was present, too. “What happened after the wolf found the beauty, then?”

Jongin did not know he was capable of embarrassment until he gave his answer with utmost confidence only to be proven wrong. Sehun, despite his juvenile amusement, did not make fun of him for it; merely had his fill of laughter that crinkled his eyes on the corners and rivaled the brightness of candlelight. Petulant, cheeks refusing to cool down, Jongin swatted some water at him in warning. Unsuccessful.

_“Just continue. It’s running late.”_

“Oh, I’ll continue. But first, tell me why you weren’t listening.”

_“It’s not important.”_

“Well, that’s too bad. I’m more interested to know why, now. So, are you going to tell me, or will I tickle it out of you?”

Sehun raised a hand and wriggled his fingers to show he was serious, a contrast to his mischievous smile. Aghast, Jongin jerked back, even if there was virtually no escape for him in the bathtub.

_“You wouldn’t dare.”_

Sehun closed and set the book aside.

 _“Fine, fine! I’ll tell you!”_ Embarrassment rising, Jongin couldn’t believe he’d given in this easily. What was it about Sehun that made him cave without struggle or second thought? _“But you might not believe me.”_

“I shall be the sole judge of that. Now, out with it.”

Mildly annoyed, highly indignant, but left without another choice, Jongin blurted out the answer quite fast before facing away from Sehun, completely turning his back. Whether to avoid seeing the reaction or to salvage what little of his dignity he had left from the rapid invasion of embarrassment, he wasn’t sure.

“Hey, don’t you want to know if you gave the right or wrong answer?” Sehun asked, amusement so loud in his words Jongin might as well have gone deaf with it.

Jongin, petulant more than ever, stayed perfectly still. _“Must I look at you to know whether I am right or wrong?”_

“Absolutely not, but I like looking at your face, regardless. Will you turn around now? Please?”

Jongin’s intentions of drawing this out evaporated. Slowly, he turned around to Sehun flashing him a grin. That same grin broadened when they were completely face to face once more, Sehun undeterred by the eyebrow Jongin lifted.

“Firs of all, you gave the wrong answer. _Again_ ,” Sehun said, leaning in close to lessen the space between them, impishness on the corners of his smile. “Contrary to what you said, the wolf did not devour the beauty or kidnap her. The correct answer is: the beauty willingly ran away with the wolf. The wolf did not use any magic on her, did not bribe her, did not brainwash her, too.”

Sehun picked up where he left off. Jongin listened, never once interrupting, allowing himself to be whisked away to the worlds written in the pages; by Sehun’s voice alone. At the end of the third story, a soft breeze blew in from the slightly open window. The candle flames flickered. Jongin peeked out. In the pitch black night sky was the almost round moon, argent and foreboding.

_“It is late. You must head home now. You have an early day tomorrow.”_

Sehun shook his head. “The weather has been quite tempestuous. Grandpa told me a big storm might be coming, so it’s dangerous to be out at sea fishing. It does make me wonder… after what happened, I am unsure if this is a natural phenomenon or another force at work.”

_“I would not put it past Changho to meddle with the weather. That is why you must be careful. You, your grandfather, the townspeople—everyone must keep safe at this uncertain time.”_

“Our house has withstood a lot of storms. The townspeople, they are hardy and strong-willed, and will survive this, too. Do not worry about us,” Sehun assured; smiled in the same manner. He glimpsed out the window once more. “Well, it is getting real late. I have to go before Grandpa wakes in his sleep and doesn’t find me in bed.” He stood up, slow, seemingly disinclined. He hovered by the side of the bathtub, resembling a meek child. “I wish I didn’t have to leave. That way, I can look after you better.”

 _“I will be here when you come back tomorrow morning.”_ Jongin reached out to hold Sehun’s hand, and he easily reciprocated his touch by lacing their fingers together. _“No one will dare to come here after all the tales surrounding my castle. Now, go. The night is getting deeper. The town may be asleep, but you never know who might be watching.”_

Sehun nodded; lifted their twined hands to press a kiss on the back of Jongin’s. “I will come back tomorrow. Be at ease and sleep well.”

The hours after Sehun left were the coldest, hardest, and longest. Jongin lost count of the times he glanced out the window and was met with disappointing darkness. The feeling worsened if sleep danced out of his reach, introducing him to a new kind of loneliness he never thought existed; would happen to him. The kind of loneliness rooting from missing someone despite having just spent time with them, counting down the minutes with impatience until the next reunion.

Lunchtimes were also fixed visits aside from Sehun’s early morning sidelines. After learning of Jongin’s past, Sehun surprised him by handing him two containers. One was for his honey cakes. The other was the actual lunch, contents similar to what Sehun had in his. The first time this happened, Sehun looked uncharacteristically bashful handing Jongin two containers; the blush on his face deepening when he opened the lid.

“There should be no problem digesting food meant for humans since you are one,” Sehun said, after Jongin successfully prompted him for an explanation. “I was excited to share with you some of my favorite food, but… you are a prince, after all. Your palate might not agree with simple food. I will not fault you for preferring something more extravagant to suit your taste buds.” He looked increasingly nervous the longer he spoke.

 _“That is absolutely false. I forbid you to waste another second dwelling on such thoughts.”_ Jongin sounded stern on purpose, and then eased up when he spoke again. _“My parents raised me to not be picky with food. I admit to having preferences, but I am not one to be fastidious at this state.”_ He accepted the containers with two hands and a gracious heart. _“You took time to prepare this for me when you didn’t have to. That is all I need to tell me your favorite food tastes good.”_

And he was proven right after the first bite, devouring everything in a heartbeat before Sehun’s astonished eyes, whose lips curved upward into a relieved, delighted smile.

Every day since, Sehun packed him food to help his arm heal faster. He went as far as volunteering to feed him if he wanted. Jongin turned him down, at first, citing his right hand would do the job. Both of them knew it was a lie, given his previous record of dropping books into the water using said hand. Fate didn’t side with Jongin when the slice of bread didn’t last two seconds in his grip before meeting a soggy fate. He frowned at Sehun, who gave him an “I told you so” look; took the container and fed him, accepting no protests. It was awkward, at first—Jongin hadn’t been fed since growing old enough to hold cutlery by himself. Now, he secretly came to like it, along with the attention Sehun showered him.

Before leaving for the shipyard, Sehun always asked if Jongin was in the mood for any particular food. It took six days of telling Sehun he had none until a sudden craving for something sweet struck him, one that couldn’t be remedied by the honey cakes alone. On the seventh day, Jongin told him he wanted strawberries, if it was available this season.

To his pleasant surprise, Sehun carried a strawberry-filled basket after dusk, looking proud when he showed it to Jongin. “This was the last basket. I bargained as hard as I could with the shopkeeper. He was a tough one to crack. I got my way, of course. I washed the strawberries in the kitchens before coming here.”

Sehun haggling with a stubborn shopkeeper painted a comical picture. Jongin smiled at this; smiled wider at the plump strawberries glistening like red rubies. “ _Thank you for getting them for me. Strawberries are my favorite fruit. I haven’t eaten a strawberry in five years.”_ A creeping sadness mingled with the fact, though it was easily overridden by his elation of changing that right now.

“You can have all of it,” Sehun said.

Jongin considered taking the basket inside the bathtub. That was a disaster waiting to happen. He could request Sehun to get him out of the bathtub to sit on the floor. That was a ton of added work, and Sehun must be tired from his shipyard job. So he chose the third best option, setting it in motion by flashing Sehun the sweetest smile he could muster.

_“Feed me the strawberries.”_

“Are you ordering me around?” Sehun teased, but acquiesced. He moved the chair closer to the bathtub, basket on his lap, strawberry between his fingers and brought it to Jongin’s lips.

 _“Do_ you _like being ordered around?”_ Jongin teased back, taking a small bite.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Sehun drawled, near purring out the words, voice thick with insinuation.

Two strawberries and maintained eye contact later, Sehun said, “I forgot to tell you, but there wasn’t a lot of fish to catch this morning. It’s probably because of the brewing storm. I did feel like someone was watching me beneath the waters.”

Jongin stilled his chewing. _“You should’ve moved to some other fishing spot or returned to shore.”_

“I can’t do that,” Sehun said, plucking a fourth strawberry from the basket. “I still have to make a living. If you’re worried about the sea king, I’m being very careful. He hasn’t snatched me, so far. I don’t intend to get caught, anyway.”

The conversation soon ebbed into a comfortable silence. Jongin lost count of the strawberries he’d eaten. Sehun picked a particularly large one next. Jongin happily bit into it but didn’t take into account how much juice would burst out. It dripped down his chin; Sehun’s fingers. Red droplets disturbed the milky film of the bathtub water. The strawberry’s sugary-sweet scent filled the air.

 _“Oh, my bad.”_ Jongin didn’t feel bad at all, mischief rousing within. He held Sehun’s wrist, not giving him a chance to pull his hand away. He licked a ticklish drop of strawberry juice from his lower lip, watching the way Sehun’s eyes followed the trail of his tongue. He liked it.

Jongin liked it even better when Sehun met and held his gaze while drawing the half-bitten strawberry to his mouth, taking careful bites to avoid Sehun’s fingers. More juice flowed and dripped, leaving a sticky residue where it slid between his fingers; the delicate skin of Sehun’s wrist. The strawberry was almost gone before the last bit slipped from Sehun’s fingers and dropped straight right into the bathtub water. Neither of them paid attention to the soft splash. Neither broke the eye contact.

Jongin’s lips were beginning to feel sticky from the juice, its sweetness coating his tongue. He raised his free hand and stroked Sehun’s cheek before drawing his face close, albeit in a slow pace to give him the chance to back away if he didn’t want this. He would understand.

Sehun proved him wrong by leaning in closer, warm eyes sparkling.

The sweetness of a strawberry was no match against the indescribable flavor of a first kiss. It also felt like a lightning strike, exciting places Jongin wasn’t aware existed until now. The kiss didn’t stop at one, only breaking apart briefly for air and returned for more in repeated succession, each one taking longer than the last. Jongin lost count after the third, when his mouth opened beneath Sehun’s, letting him deepen the kiss and build the need for more.

Faces drifting apart after the final kiss—the one that lasted the longest and left him the most winded—Jongin’s lips tingled with a pleasant warmth that spread through his entire body. He could no longer taste the strawberry’s sweetness on his tongue. Even if the tiniest drop of juice remained, he couldn’t remember it anymore. The taste of Sehun’s lips completely erased the fruit’s flavor, replacing it with his own.

Sehun’s face was a pretty shade of red like the strawberries, dark eyes shining with desire, pink lips kiss-swollen. Jongin felt proud for causing this result. And he felt prouder for causing Sehun’s heartbeat to race in a way similar to his own when Sehun took his hand and laid it flat on his chest, right above the heart.

“I am inexperienced in this front, for I have limited exposure to the workings of the heart. The possibility I might be reading this situation completely wrong is high. I sincerely hope I am not, to be honest; for why does my heart beat like this, not only after the kiss, but just by the mere thought of you?” Sehun sounded shy, words laced with a sincerity that struck true to Jongin’s heart. “Could this be what thousands of poets have written about? What the famous odes and ballads revere, and also the source of their agony? If so, would it be bold of me to ask if you feel the same? If I have been misreading everything this entire time, I shan’t burden you with feelings you cannot reciprocate.”

 _“Even when I was human, though I had wooed and been wooed back, it did not go as far as kissing,”_ Jongin said, fingers of his free hand clutching onto the fabric of Sehun’s shirt. _“I have never kissed anybody until you.”_ He reached up to mold his palm against Sehun’s cheek, thumb caressing the apple of it. He smiled when Sehun leaned into his touch almost immediately. _“So if your heart is beating as fast as it is now, you will have the pleasure of knowing that mine is beating in sync with yours, if not a tempo faster.”_

Sehun’s responding smile was the brightest, most breathtaking he had ever seen on him—more beautiful than moonlight, warmer than the sun. It felt good when your feelings were reciprocated. It felt better when they kissed once more, knowing their affections ran the same course. It felt best knowing there would be more chances to kiss without reservations in the future; no more thinking twice about the flirtatious remarks and hand-holding.

It felt odd and out of place when Jongin moved and pain shot down the length of his tail. It happened while their foreheads were pressed together, soaking each other’s presence. The pain faded just as fast as it appeared; and Jongin, though happy and content right now, wondered if he had imagined it.

☆彡

Jongin didn’t imagine it at all.

The pain flared at intermittent periods but didn’t last long enough to hurt too badly. It seemed concentrated in one place, he noticed, after its continued appearances on the same spot: the middle of his tail. On the hours he was alone, Jongin checked his tail for any wounds or ailments he might have overlooked several times; the kind that belatedly appeared after a period of time or most likely acquired during the jellyfish attack. Each time he found none, further heightening his puzzlement about the pain’s origins and its cause.

He paid great attention on its onset; attempted keeping track of patterns, if any. He didn’t want to worry Sehun about things he himself couldn’t explain. Jongin assumed the pain might come from staying in the bathtub for long periods of time, or slept in a weird angle that set off the pain if he moved a certain way.

Pain sparked in the same area while Sehun was carrying him to the vat. Jongin thought he found his answer when it disappeared after he finally stretched his tail out.

It returned seconds later, proving him wrong. He’d never been more thankful Sehun had his back to him, diligently scrubbing the bathtub. He could freely grimace while running a soothing hand up and down the length of his tail. The pain subsided some by the time Sehun was done and rounded to face him. Jongin internally chanted to plaster on a smile that ensured nothing was amiss; free him of suspicion.

The full moon came and went; Changho was not as powerful anymore, wasn’t quite the dangerous threat to Jongin’s life. Despite the circumstances that led him back, it was a truly nostalgic experience staying within the walls of his old castle. Such a shame Jongin couldn’t check each and every room for himself. Though when Sehun finally brought him back out into the open, and he took his first deep inhale of the sea breeze, a tear fell unbidden. It didn’t hit him how much he missed being outdoors, even if it was just for a few days.

Sehun carefully set him down on the smoothest rock. The gaping loss in Jongin’s chest rapidly filled upon dipping his tail in seawater. These were the waters Jongin used to irrationally detest with every inch of his being. These were the waters he could now appreciate, if only for the various people and bonds that bridged him to them: Chungha, the crabs and other sea animals, Moonkyu… Sehun.

The rhythmic crashing of waves striking against rocks beckoned him to return.

“You’re safe now,” Sehun said, breeze whipping at his dark hair. His gaze swept over the vast expanse of the sea and its waves rushing to shore one after the other. “The storm has passed, too, so it’s safe to swim out.”

_“I will miss lounging in the bathtub. I like it this way better, though. Less work and less trouble for you.”_

“Don’t say that,” Sehun scolded, though gentle in his tone. “I never thought anything I did for you was laborious or troublesome. It can’t be helped you’ve been cursed by a petty sea king.” He looked out into the sea and shouted, “Did you hear me? I hope you do, so you’ll know how incredibly petty you are.”

Jongin shook his head, albeit smiling. _“Do you sometimes wish I was back to my human form instead?”_ It was a question that had been brewing at the back of his mind for many days but only found the courage to ask now.

Sehun gave him a funny look. “It would be easier to bring you to my favorite places, that much is true. But I like you this way. I like you as you are. There might be other sides to you I should still get to know, but I’m just as eager to learn about them. Why should I care if you have a tail or legs? Your heart is not reflected in them. I believe that is more important.” He gently pushed back Jongin’s hair away from his eyes, and then his fingers trailed down the side of his face. “How long has this question been bothering you?”

The familiar pain flickered to life, a surprising, near-throbbing ache in its severity. It was taking a long time to subside. Jongin shook his head that doubled as answer and to help distract him. _“I had considered this might be a passing fancy on your part.”_

“You take my affections too lightly, in that case. I reject that.”

_“And what if I am doomed to this curse forever?”_

“Then we’ll find a way to break it. I do not think it’s impossible. It only becomes impossible if you stop believing. And if there’s something my late mother taught me, it’s that everything has a solution.” Sehun blinked, a look of realization crossing his face. “Say, I don’t think you’ve mentioned if your curse is breakable. Is it? I would imagine so. I’ve thought about it. Since the sea king wants you to go to him, he might be doing that to make you think only he can break it. There must be another way, right?”

Jongin deliberated if he should tell Sehun or not, but he’d only gone as far as that. He didn’t even get the chance to reply. He’d been caught off-guard by the rise and roar of a gigantic wave behind Sehun, foreboding in its appearance, unforgiving in its descent. Jongin closed his eyes and raised his arms above his head to no avail, nearly falling off the rock from its forceful push. He emerged from the frothy white water soaked to the bone and Sehun nowhere to be found.

Panic’s icy fingers gripped Jongin’s lungs and squeezed. The roar of a new wave—smaller, tamer— cut through the haze in his mind. The warm touch of Sehun’s fingers against his face was fading too fast for his liking.

That gigantic wave was no coincidence. It was a deliberate attack. A threat from Changho himself. Changho took Sehun as hostage to lure him into his territory; would use him as a bargaining chip so he would submit to his demands. Jongin felt sick by the foulness of this underhanded tactic. He’d never come to a decision so fast in his life. He slipped down the rock, one destination in mind.

“Are you sure you want to confront him as you are?”

Chungha the Raconteur’s question stopped Jongin mid-gesture. Her deeply-lined face was etched with seriousness, wind whipping at her niveous hair and ratty cloak.

_“Can’t this conversation wait? Sehun is in danger!”_

“If you do,” Chungha continued, acting like she never heard him, “you might not come back. You might not come out of it alive, either. Are you willing to risk your safety for your precious fisherman?”

 _“If not for him, I would have remained distrustful of everyone.”_ Various images of Sehun flashed through Jongin’s mind. He clenched his fists at his sides. _“If not for him, my heart would have stayed shut. If it did, I might have forever lost the chance of breaking the curse.”_

Chungha inclined her head. “And how sure are you that what you feel is real and true? How sure are you that you aren’t merely using him to break the curse?”

 _“If that were truly the case, then my heart would not be in so much pain at the thought of Sehun getting hurt,”_ Jongin reasoned. _“If I was only using him to escape this terrible fate, I would not be so worried, to the point it feels like I’m losing my mind, of the unspeakable things Changho could possibly do to him.”_

Chungha’s gentle smile broke her somber expression. “Sweet prince, have you been feeling pain in your tail recently?”

 _“Yes; but what has that got to do with anything right now?”_ Jongin found the question and reaction strange—then a sudden understanding came to him. _“Is… is this a test?”_

Chungha’s tiny nod was affirmation. “I wanted to determine the depth of your feelings for this fisherman. I have found my answer. Go. Save your beloved from the clutches of that damned creature. My protection spell will work on you now that the full moon has ended, but I cannot guarantee the safety of your fisherman. You must act swiftly in order to save him. I will join you soon. That is a promise.”

Jongin dove straight underwater, overwhelmed by the temporary burn in his lungs from not having inhaled it in days. He navigated the deep and swam to his destination. It wasn’t hard to find. There was only one place in the vastness of the sea where sea creatures did not dare venture. He swam past graveyard after graveyard of shipwrecks old and new; of ruined fishing vessels big and small. Their abundant presence was disconcerting, a subject of mystery to Jongin when he first learned of their existence. Moonkyu told him the story behind these tragedies, adding fuel to Jongin’s animosity against Changho.

Jongin knew he was near—signs of animal and plant life, the amount of siren dwellings in his surroundings drastically decreased until he could spot none. The waters grew colder; the atmosphere eerier. He swam through a small opening at the bottom of a wall of rock; passed through a narrow tunnel, dark and seemingly endless. A soft glow coming from the end of the tunnel told him where to go. Exiting the tunnel, he saw a large shape in the distance resembling a mountain, curves and corners becoming more defined as he approached.

The infamous castle of the sea king, surrounded by a black stone wall. Its twisting towers and sinister atmosphere warded off outsiders from daring to cross over. Jongin doubted any living creature, from sea or land, would willingly come to this terrifying place.

He swam in search of the main entrance; found an opening that suspiciously looked like one. He reached the other side without incident and found himself in what might be a grand hallway based on its structure and decoration—and reared back in surprise at what awaited him.

The enormous eel, its beady red eyes focused on him with a knowing look.

“Welcome, fair one,” the eel spoke, Changho’s ever-grating voice coming out of its jaws. “I knew you would come. Follow my pet; he will take you to me.”

The eel brought Jongin to the throne room, appearing to be a large, empty cave. The floor and walls were silver and looked made from polished stone. Light barely filtered in from above, hence the dim surroundings. The stench of rotting flesh—foul, choking—struck him unsuspecting and threatened him with nausea. His hands immediately flew to cover his nose, if only to spare him from taking one more whiff of the unbearable scent.

“You wound me, fair one. You did not exhibit such poor manners when I was human.”

Not far ahead was the clam-shell throne. To its right, a trident glowing gold stood idle in its stand, thrumming with an energy out of this world. The dimness receded like a retreating shadow, providing enough light for Jongin to see Changho the Ruthless himself occupying the throne, yet he hardly recognized him.

The Changho in his memories was a handsome youth, lithe in body, and always carried the scent of the sea with him when they were acquainted long enough for him to pick up on these tiny details. The Changho seated on the throne was a far, far cry from that preserved image. Gone was the flawless skin that seemed to gleam a pearlescent white under the sun; his exposed arms and torso now ridden with festering wounds and sores. The scales on Changho’s tail looked dull, the fins limp; his hair, once lustrous and healthy, now drab and mostly fallen off his head. Rows of darkened, rotten teeth peeked behind his lips; four of them suspiciously resembled fangs with their pointed tips. Changho’s visage, once a head turner by its own right, was hollowed out and marred with scabs and scars.

“Are you surprised?” Changho asked, snapping Jongin back to the present. “But at long last, you have graced me with your presence. I thought the day would never come. A pity our reunion had to be like this. Ah, why must you frown at me so, fair one? Are you displeased by the interior of my court? The whole castle? Worry not, for when you start living here, I shall give you full reign decorating the place as you please.” When he smiled, the sharp tips of his teeth gleamed. “Oh, that look of defiance—I like that! But it’s not going to last long… unless you know what’s good for the pathetic human you’re here to save.” He grabbed the trident from its stand.

Jongin straightened up at once. He noticed the red, unhealed wounds on Changho’s palm before he enclosed it fully around the staff. Changho pointed the trident at the vacant space to the left side of the throne. The trident glowed bright, beams of light shooting out from its prongs forming an opaque sphere. The light dispersed, revealing a transparent bubble with an incarcerated Sehun looking lost and confused. Evident panic and fear was etched on Sehun’s face. His gaze caught Jongin’s immediately, startling like he couldn’t believe he was there, and then banged his fists on the bubble to no avail.

Jongin swam forward but an energy blast aimed too close to his spot stopped him. He avoided in time; threw Changho a glare. _“How dare you!”_

Changho was unfazed; smirked in response. “Now, now, fair one. Let’s not be too hasty. We can talk this out. I will get straight to the point, as I have been waiting for years, and my patience has marginally thinned. I will set this human free if you agree to stay here with me forever.”

Sehun’s eyes widened, indicating he could hear everything inside the orb. He frantically shook his head; frantically pounded on the bubble. “Don’t do it!” he shouted, voice coming out slightly distorted due to the bubble’s thickness.

“Choose wisely, fair one. His freedom is in your hands. If you insist on staying adamantly stubborn, you are free to do so, just as I am free to raise the stakes.”

Jongin didn’t know what that meant. He found out quickly enough when Changho raised the trident. It glowed gold at the same time he grimaced once the bubble lit up. Nothing obvious happened at first—then, water, rapidly filling the bubble starting from below.

Icy fear seized Jongin. If he did not yield to Changho’s demands, Sehun would drown in the bubble. Cruel. Unfair. This was not giving him a choice. This was coercion in its plainest, coldest form.

“Don’t do it.”

Sehun’s voice slapped Jongin out of his daze.

“ _Don’t_ do it,” Sehun repeated, firmly this time, grave seriousness poured into every word. “I am not worth the trouble.”

Jongin frowned hard. The pain in his tail surged with a vengeance, impossible to ignore. _“Stop saying nonsense! You are worth everything, trouble and all.”_

“You want to go back being human, right? You should take this chance. You might not have this kind of opportunity again.”

Jongin despised Sehun’s smile, his calmness, even as the water inside the bubble steadily rose. _“Gaining back my human form is useless if you won’t be by my side.”_

Even from afar, Jongin saw how Sehun’s features softened, the brightness of his smile receding a fraction, how it looked more impossibly fond.

“A lover’s quarrel? Wonderful.” Changho sounded highly amused, a contrast to his cold, bloodshot stare. Jongin noticed the pupils of his eyes looked like narrow slits. His disfigured countenance turned menacing as he rose from the throne, gripping the trident tightly. “You are fortunate I harbor affection for you still, in a way. I seldom give second chances. Consider yourself special. So, what shall it be? Your pride at the cost of this human’s life; or his freedom for yours?”

A soft burst of light exploded in front of Jongin. He shielded his eyes; lowered his hand after to find a glowing parchment unfurling before him. Next to the parchment was a fishbone waiting to be picked and used as a pen. Reading the first few lines confirmed it was a binding contract. If he signed his name on the blank drawn at the bottom of the parchment, it meant he was agreeing to stay with Changho for eternity to set Sehun free. Selling his soul to captivity for the freedom of another.

The water inside the bubble was now above Sehun’s knees.

“Time is ticking, fair one.” Changho was watching his every move with unveiled glee in the probable assumption he had won. The trident in his hand glowed, soft but dangerous all the same.

Sehun’s protests and pleading grew in volume; desperate in the way he was trying his hardest to change his mind. Jongin heard every word, yet he still took the fish bone, conveying what he had chosen.

“No! This is madness!” Sehun yelled, the fight in his voice fiercer than previous. “You can’t do this to yourself!”

Changho expelled a loud, impatient breath. “You are too loud. Be quiet.” The trident shone, and the bubble answered by glowing a split second before the water rose faster than before, reaching Sehun’s waist in horrific, record-breaking time. A silent declaration of war, one Jongin didn’t think he could win.

With plenty reluctance, chest constricting from the unfairness of it all, Jongin snatched the fishbone and poised its tip above the blank.

The fish bone never touched the parchment, the moment taken away by the sound of an explosion outside. The eel acted on its own, sliding out of the throne room to check the commotion.

A second explosion was heard. The throne room shook from the force of it. A terrifying screech of a wounded beast; the disturbing sound of flesh being torn apart. Changho’s eyes narrowed, but he did not move, did not utter a word, though his hold on the trident considerably tightened. Jongin’s hand strayed away from the fishbone, more curious about this current happening more than anything.

The third explosion sounded louder. Closer.

The fourth explosion was ground- and ear-shattering, Jongin had to clap his hands over ears to protect his hearing. Coral debris fell upon them like a light rain shower. Jongin took advantage of Changho’s distracted state, swimming slow but impatient out of his sight until he reached the bubble. He struck the bubble with his palms, but it was no use.

“What are you doing?” Sehun sounded like he was demanding and scolding at the same time. The water was up to his shoulders now. “You should escape—this is the perfect opportunity.”

 _“I’m not leaving without you,”_ Jongin told him. _“I’ll find a way to get you out of this bubble, even if it’s the last thing I do.”_

The doors of the throne room exploded open. Jongin flinched but stayed right on his spot.

“Who dares to barge in here without my permission?” Changho demanded, booming voice echoing in the room.

“You have a lot of nerve talking about permission. I don’t recall you asking that from me when you stole what was mine centuries ago.”

Jongin whipped his head around upon recognizing the voice. Hope and joy had never resurrected so fast.

The bubbles and debris cleared up. Silhouettes of various shapes and sizes emerged and inched close. Some were hissing. Some were growling. Some were waiting to stir trouble, evident in the luminous glow of their eyes. All of them were paying too close attention to Changho, who paled considerably from the entrance of these creatures. He gripped the trident with both hands tightly in front of him like a shield to ward them off.

He had very good reason to, Jongin thought, for the throne room had been invaded by the legion of ancient sea monsters he only read about in his storybooks.

And in front of these monsters stood Chungha, proud and tall in her stance despite the hunching and old age. Never had Jongin seen her this serious, or the commanding air about her that seemed to come naturally. The sea monsters behind her slinked forward, snarling and snapping their jaws at Changho. She raised a hand, and they halted.

Changho narrowed his eyes, as if to take a good look. Then he snorted—an unexpected reaction. If he was displeased or nervous, it didn’t show on his face. “I caught rumors of your probable survival, though it seemed highly unlikely for you to stay alive in a world not your own. I thought you would be dead by now. I should have finished you myself that night.”

“Your first mistake was doing things haphazardly. Always impatient, always rushing—no wonder you’re a living corpse moving closer to death with each breath.” Chungha wore a smug smile. “I am not sympathetic. You deserve it for forcefully taking things that aren’t yours.”

“The throne is mine!” Changho bellowed, furious, his voice sounding like jagged rocks rubbing together. “It was mine from the day I was born! I was destined to be the ruler of the seven seas!”

“You are delusional!” Chungha bellowed back, warning flashing in her eyes—a clear threat. The monsters’ hissing grew louder. “That trident in your hand, that throne you sit on, this castle and the seven seas—none of these are yours. You were not meant to be king. You are _not_ a king.” She pointed a gnarly finger at the trident. “The trident does not recognize you as its master. You know this well. You also know well using its powers comes with a price you are continuing to pay. The trident will never yield to you. Give it up while it is not too late.”

“Never!” Changho aimed the trident at Chungha and unleashed a rain of energy blasts.

Chungha did not move. Instead, one of the monsters—a silver serpent three times the size of Changho’s eel—slid forward until it was in front of her, opened its mouth in a mighty roar, and released a single energy blast that tore apart what Changho unleashed into smithereens.

“Curses!”

For the first time since Jongin arrived, he saw legitimate worry on Changho’s face. He looked significantly smaller, as if he had shrunk into himself. Red slid down the length of the trident staff. Though far away, Jongin’s siren nose caught the metallic scent of what was unmistakably blood.

“You might possess the trident, but you do not have the support of the sea sovereigns,” Chungha said. “They do not recognize you as their ally. They will not bow to you. Give it up, brother. You might have cursed me to stay in this form for a thousand years, but what you failed to do was seal my powers. Thank the seas your greed consumed you to realize there were loopholes in your plans.”

Jongin noticed unnatural movement coming from behind an unsuspecting Changho. A crab of modest size was swimming as fast as its body and legs would allow. It glided closer and closer to Changho’s hand from beneath. The same hand holding onto the trident. It readied its pinchers, aimed for the softest, most vulnerable part to pinch.

Both pinchers sank swift and merciless into the fleshy section of Changho’s wrist. Changho howled in pain. The trident slipped from his grasp and drifted away from his reach. Jongin saw the chance and swam as fast as he could despite the lancing pain in his tail and grabbed the trident, instantly feeling the undercurrent of power thrumming through the staff.

“ _Now!_ ” It sounded like an order from Chungha.

It must have—the sea monsters attacked at once, accosting the defenseless Changho from all directions. Changho’s eyes widened in pure fear, quickly realizing what the monsters aimed to accomplish. Refusing the looming reality of his downfall, he swam away in haste to escape. The monsters pursued him, relentless and without remorse. Jongin needn’t witness with his own eyes what happened next. Changho’s screams rose above the monsters’ snarling and roaring, a bloodcurdling sound, then cut off abruptly.

Jongin shuddered at the chilly conclusion, but his relief was more potent and overpowering.

“Sweet prince, if you may,” Chungha called out to him sweetly, a bony hand outstretched and waiting. “You must give me the trident if you wish to save your beloved.”

Jongin released the trident at once. It floated toward Chungha. Once within her grasp, it shone a blindingly gold light. He lowered the hand protecting his eyes, and the old woman was nowhere to be found. In her place was a beautiful mermaid with long, blond hair cascading down her shoulders in waves; the lower half of her body encased in a tail with scales in every color imaginable, shiny and eye-catching. On her brow sat a crown of exquisite pearls; around her neck was the clam shell necklace. The trident looked comfortable in her hand, like it was meant to be in her possession all along.

Chungha—young, stunning, and back in her original body—pointed the trident at the bubble. It released a thin power beam, bubble bursting upon contact. Jongin readily caught Sehun in his arms and swam out of the castle, gritting his teeth through the searing pain in his tail. The only thought in his mind was getting Sehun to shore; to safety.

Sehun was unconscious when Jongin laid him on the sand. He had stayed far too long inside the water-filled bubble, the bluish tinge to his lips and growing coldness of his body glaring evidences. Keeping panic at bay, he checked for a pulse. His worry vanished a fraction upon sensing the faint beat on his wrist. Sehun was fighting to live. To survive. Jongin did his best to resuscitate him, struggling through the aching of his tail; the negative thoughts poisoning his hope. He couldn’t afford to be complacent. A faint pulse could end two ways. He only wanted the one that would not end in lifelong despair and tears.

“Move aside and be at ease, sweet prince,” came Chungha’s voice from behind. She was perched on the rocks, looking on worriedly at both of them. The trident gleamed under the sun. “Let me repay what you have done for me.”

Jongin obeyed. Chungha leveled the trident at Sehun, and a soft stream of light came out from the tip of the prongs. It engulfed Sehun’s entire form, the furrow between his brows smoothing out; pallid complexion improving, the healthy pink of his lips returned. Jongin grabbed his hand; choked on a relieved sob. Sehun’s hand was warm. Sehun was warm. Alive.

“He urged you to choose yourself between his or yours survival.” Chungha’s words were underlined with awe. “Very few would have done what he did.”

 _“He was never a selfish person.”_ Jongin smoothed away the hair on Sehun’s forehead.

“Arguably so—you know him more than I do. Though his act of selflessness can only stem from something more profound. Something I believe the both of you share that my foolish tool of a brother will never understand.” Chungha smiled. “Since the ordeal with my brother is done, it is time for me to keep my word. You have waited a long time for this, sweet prince. Your waiting has now come to an end.”

The chain of her necklace broke, the clam shell floating in mid-air and springing open by itself. The tiny, shining orb taking residence inside sailed toward Jongin and passed between his lips. Jongin was forced to swallow and gasped, a choked sound coming out as it slid down his throat and slotted itself in its rightful place. He gingerly touched his neck, still adjusting to the foreign sensation, discomfort soon fading.

Disbelief gripping him still, Jongin opened and closed his mouth a few times first. His ears picked up a tiny grunt. It came from Sehun, brows drawing together before his eyes slowly fluttered open. He squinted against the brightness of the sky, then slowly turned his head and stared at Jongin. The weak smile blooming on his face obliterated Jongin’s remaining doubts.

Jongin was about to open his mouth, but the crippling pain in his tail struck him, a sharp gasp jumping from his throat. Whatever ailing his tail felt like the scales and fins were melting; split open right down the middle and pried apart in opposite directions. His hands groped for support, latched onto the first thing he could reach and dug his fingers into it to keep him anchored through the agony. He couldn’t be sure if it was Sehun's shoulders, though he did see him sit up right away and asked what was wrong. Mind hazy with pain, he vaguely felt Sehun pulling him into his frame, one hand stroking his hair comfortingly and the other down his spine. He couldn’t tell if it was real or imagined hearing Sehun plead for help to Chungha, who answered with a calm string of words he didn't catch.

Jongin’s breath hitched at the complete splitting of his tail. The rest of the scales vanished. The cool sea breeze caressed the bare skin of his legs. He could wriggle his toes. The pain faded, and ultimately disappeared. Shocked speechless, heart thundering too fast in his chest its pounding was all he could hear in his ears, Jongin slowly pushed himself away from Sehun to fully digest what happened.

Legs. A pair of long legs he thought he’d lost forever. They were attached to him, covered in sand, skin fully exposed to the elements. No more scales. No more fins. No more tail. Jongin stared long and hard at his legs until his vision blurred. Whether from his refusal to blink or from the overwhelming elation about what this meant, he wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered more than this moment, sharing it with the one he had hoped to be there for him from now onward.

“You—your legs. You have your legs back!” Sehun sounded as astonished as he looked, eyes shining with undisguised marvel as he took in the sight. “If you have them back, this means you’ve broken the curse.”

Jongin shook his head, eyes watering more than he would like to. Again, it didn’t matter. “ _We_ broke it. We broke the curse together. It wouldn’t have worked if it was just you or I separately.”

Sehun’s eyes widened, blinking at him in combined shock and wonder. “You can talk!”

Jongin startled; nodded and smiled once recovered. “I can. My voice has been returned. It was meant to come back after the curse broke.”

It took a few tries before Jongin could stand up without his knees trembling or the threat of his legs caving in. He felt very much like a newborn calf, awkward with its limbs before gaining the confidence to stand independently. Sehun helped steady him. Jongin took it as a chance to lean into him if his steps faltered. His steps _did_ falter a lot of times, but he didn’t care since it meant he could press in close to Sehun.

“You’re human again,” Sehun remarked, the marvel never completely gone from his voice. This time, he held Jongin’s hands while helping him take little steps at a time on the sand. Jongin’s knees were still wobbling from the long years of disuse, mind more attuned to swimming than walking, but he was gradually reacquainting himself. “The kingdom’s lost prince will return, and everything will go back to the way it used to be for you.”

Jongin caught onto something in Sehun’s tone. “If you are thinking of leaving me due to difference in status, you should stop right there. I won’t let it happen.”

As if he’d been waiting for this moment, Sehun let the worry show on his face. It was not a look Jongin liked. “You are a prince. I am but a poor fisherman. We are worlds apart, you and I. That is not a reality we can change.”

“If you speak any longer about these things, I will be sad,” Jongin said, jutting out his bottom lip for emphasis. Sehun panicked, but he shushed him by bracketing his face with his hands. “Listen to me: you did not care when I was a siren, cursed with the chances of breaking it slim. I certainly did not care you were a fisherman when we first interacted, and I will not start now. I care more about what you have shown me using this”—he laid a palm flat on Sehun’s chest, right on top of his beating heart—“which is more than enough to convince me there is no one else fitting to stay with me. So, please; speak no longer of sorrowful things. If you are afraid, then rely on me. We’ll face it together.”

Though Sehun stayed quiet, he held Jongin’s hands, pads of his thumbs caressing the knuckles. The hesitation in his eyes was waning; the upward curve of his mouth hopeful and soft around the edges.

It was good enough as answer.

☆彡

Like most fairy tales spread wide across the land, some had no written record of its existence, so their legitimacy was disputed.

One of these stories happened like this:

Long, long ago, before the creation of man, sirens existed first and resided in the deepest, coldest depths of the sea. There were commoners, and there were monarchs. Sirens born into the royal family with the blessed blood of the sea goddess running in their veins came with a birthright to rule the seven seas. With each new reign, the crowned ruler was granted ownership of the trident.

The trident was a symbol of power and contained magic only the crowned ruler could wield. Although the crown and status were earned through inheritance, the trident possessed a conscious of its own. It could choose to answer its current master’s every whim and wish or none at all. Forcing the trident to bend to your will was dangerous. It _could_ grant you powers wild and beyond imagination, or anything your heart desired, but it would also take something in return as compensation.

And it came to existence, the birth of the royal siren siblings a few years apart of each other. The firstborn was Prince Changho, fair and handsome, smart but cunning; gifted with a silver tongue but also scathing in reverse when things did not go his way; when he did not gain what he wanted. His looks were revered in waters beyond their own, though he was also infamously known for breaking many hearts. He was quick to bore with routine and structure; quicker to flare up if he was bested at anything, especially if the direct competition was his own sibling.

In contrast, the younger sister, Princess Chungha was a vision to behold but found no pleasure in fooling others to tear their hearts apart. She saw more reward in being kind and giving, immersing herself in the affairs of the seas and holding educational discussions on an array of topics with the royal council. She poured time into her studies and excelled at them, improved on other areas required as a royal, in turn gaining their tutors’ favor and laudations, and, unfortunately, Prince Changho’s envy and wrath.

When talks about succession arose in court, many favored Princess Chungha over Prince Changho. This did not go unnoticed by the prince, who seethed and raged at the growing comparisons each day. The princess did not pay any of this attention, content to serve the court and their subjects in any way she could. On the old siren king’s deathbed, he named Princess Chungha the new queen and ruler of the seven seas, one that had been expected by the majority but shocked Prince Changho. Bitter and refusing to admit defeat, he rounded up his loyal lackeys and planned meticulously for an ambush during the coronation.

It worked. Many sirens and sea creatures loyal to Princess Chungha were slain in cold blood that night. Prince Changho forcefully took the crown and the throne, cursing his own sister by turning her into an old human woman and tossing her to shore using the waves to force her out of the water. In his giddiness to rule as the self-proclaimed new king and get rid of everyone that stood in his way, consumed by greed for power and prestige, Prince Changho failed to seal Princess Chungha’s powers, which would result in his then-unknown future disgrace.

Though her powers were not as potent on land and in human form, Princess Chungha traveled the world over to seek knowledge of how to better utilize them even with their limits. Later, much later in the future, she would use this to curry favor and win over the ancient sea monsters who seldom bowed to siren sovereigns. She found to mingle well among humans, studied their ways and customs. She made use of her pastime creating costumes as a livelihood; discovered the humans’ penchant for interesting stories in any form.

Meanwhile, Changho the Ruthless’ iron-fist rule lasted years and years, striking terror and fear in his subjects’ hearts, rendering every corner of the sea unsafe and terrifying. He killed anybody he suspected plotting against him; fed his enemies who defied his orders to his prized eel. He used the trident and its magic liberally. Slowly did he come to realize the horrendous consequences of abusing his privilege. Frequent usage of the trident meant sacrificing a portion of his flesh—the bigger the demand, the more power required, the harder it hungered.

In time, Prince Changho’s features no longer retained his youthful, handsome look. What stared right back at him in the gleaming, shiny surfaces was a creepy monster with blisters covering his skin on every part of his body; his hands, ridden with deep gashes that never healed every time he held the trident and used it to punish disloyal subjects. Vanity was one of his biggest flaws—this did not bode well to Changho the Ruthless. He had to be the picture of perfection no matter what, and he would maintain it regardless of trick or method.

And then he discovered the secret to preserving his physical appearance was eating human souls. A prohibited practice, one made taboo by the royal family for centuries. Changho did not care. He would swim close to the surface, lure unsuspecting fishermen or other humans close enough for him to grab. Shipwrecks were a feast to his aching body. This aided him in retaining his dashing looks. But as with all heinous deeds, it came with grave consequences. Merely subsisting on humans souls soon did not become fulfilling. The more souls he ate, the faster his handsome looks regressed back to its ugly, unsightly state. Changho desired for something that would give him a more lasting effect.

At the first bite of a human heart, as so inscribed in the forbidden scrolls of their ancestors, Changho was overjoyed to know his good looks lasted as long as three full moon cycles.

A long time passed before something from the surface caught Changho’s attention. Someone he had heard of only in passing but became increasingly intrigued with each story reaching his ears. A prince most loved by a small kingdom, beautiful and kind. Changho chanced a glimpse at him, and for the first time felt something he never had before.

Even so, it was not powerful enough to compete with his intense feelings of possession.

And so Changho vowed he would take the human prince to his kingdom and make him his companion for eternity.

We know of what happened in that particular story; how it played out. How it ended. Changho the Ruthless did not succeed. Chungha the Raconteur took back what was rightfully hers. The human prince, who was cursed to be a siren against his will, found true love in an innocent but loyal fisherman. We know the curse broke, because in the end, love that blossomed from genuine hearts was powerful enough to defeat the darkest, cruelest type of magic.

So you see, not all fairy tales spread far and wide are true. Some were hidden, with deliberately-twisted truths, to favor one point of view. Some were spun in ways to put one party in a good light, and antagonized another, usually the true victim of unfortunate circumstances. Some had bad endings, some had worse endings, but unless you were there to live it yourself, you would never know if what was written on the pages of books, what was sung in ballads or passed through word of mouth through generations, was true.

But some fairy tales truly had happy endings, like the prince and his fisherman. Real life was always the furthest from an enchanting fairy tale, but in each other they found happiness despite the sadness and the occasional arguments. And their fairy tale, unlike most that would leave you wondering at the end of the page, would continue beyond the happily ever after.

Kingdoms did not return to their former state of glory in one night. But, after the arrival of the long-missing prince believed to be either cursed or dead, it further prospered to what it was now.

There had been some opposition, disagreements, at first. What use was there for a prince to return and rule when they had been doing fine as an autonomous body in his absence? It had taken many discussions; many back and forth bargaining and amended conditions. At long last, they had reached a consensus, and thus the kingdom welcomed back its lost, beloved prince.

It was relatively easy for Jongin to be given a warm welcome. Those who had known him before his disappearance had nothing but good things to say. Those who had just met him, either in passing or in formal settings, walked away with nothing but praises and admiration. It would not be easy to rule over a kingdom, and the people might not answer to a prince after being used to their freedom; but a middle ground was reached, as with all things made possible through sincere discussions and transparent intentions.

The people were slowly warming up to the idea of looking up to Jongin as their prince and future king. Jongin slowly worked his way through reacquainting himself with the duties and responsibilities of a prince, relearning what he had been taught in his younger years, and gaining new knowledge in preparation for claiming the throne that had been waiting for him.

Hired help who were once employed in the castle soon returned. Recognizing their prince paired with trusted accounts about him helped Jongin gain leverage to the masses and further legitimized him as their lost prince. Jongin had never been happier seeing familiar faces, though changed and aged in five years. He sought their company on purpose, treating them like equals despite their protests, and trading stories to catch up. Though there were some missing faces, either moving to another town or falling to illness, Jongin was thankful to those he could meet now; how they were willing to work for him once more.

Meetings, partings, learning from each other, trials and errors to figure out what worked or not—such was the life of a prince. Never a dull moment, most times arduous, but kindled a passion to learn proper and just governance. How to win the people’s love and keep it. How to be impartial but compassionate. At times it seemed like progress was not happening, either at a standstill or one obstacle after the other hampering it; but with a trusted council Jongin handpicked himself after a lengthy, meticulous search and screening, massive support from his subjects, and Sehun helping him with his decision making, he felt ten times empowered and determined to face everything tossed his way.

Then one ordinary, sunny day, the head of council proposed it was time Jongin reclaimed the throne left behind by his father. To be king once and for all. There was really no more time to waste. There was no point in hesitating to sit on that throne. The kingdom was prosperous and continuing to prosper. The people loved him, more so than his late father. There was no other king the people would recognize but him. They wanted him to be crowned on the soonest time possible.

Nobody objected to the idea. Though the process would be easy, even with the coronation and subsequent revelry, Jongin requested for time to think it through. Sehun advised him in his recent letter to do what he thought was right; where his heart would be most at ease. Coming to a decision after giving it more thought, Jongin announced his answer, the kingdom rejoicing and abuzz with excitement for a new king to be named. Every corner was busy with preparations, sprinkled with unceasing chatter and laughter in the air. Jongin saw and heard this himself when he secretly sneaked out of the castle, childhood pastime never completely outgrown. The people’s happiness assured him he was on the right track; gave him more confidence.

He wished to mingle freely with them without disguise—the price of avoiding unwanted attention by walking around unguarded. He would never hear the end of it if caught, especially from Junmyeon, head of the council. Jongin couldn’t help smiling at the thought of Junmyeon and the expected scolding he would receive if word reached him their crown prince had gone off gallivanting without an entourage. The man acted like the older brother he never had, so he didn’t mind the scolding. Junmyeon also helped him the most in his added education as the son of his old tutor.

Jongin always brought back some items on his fleeting trips to the marketplace: trinkets he thought adorable, or books he could not find in the royal library. He would never miss the chance to stop by the baker’s at the end of the alley where they sold his favorite honey cakes. He knew he could request the royal cook to bake honey cakes for him, but this was the shop Sehun had been buying from since they met. Jongin visited so frequently the baker himself recognized who he was; promised to keep his visits a secret from everyone if he wished to keep his privacy.

Today, Jongin returned from his adventure without alarming the guards, savoring a honey cake in a private garden. This garden was considerably smaller than the bigger ones tended by gardeners and where he entertained visitors. This garden was one that could be seen from a window in his bedroom opposite the balcony when he rose in the morning and looked outside. In this garden thrived shrubs where red roses grew, carefully tended for by Sehun from the very first seed he had planted.

Jongin smiled as he spent his time here, eating the last of his cake under a tree, admiring the roses surrounding him with their beauty and poignant scent. The sun was hanging high, casting warmth on everything it touched. Jongin welcomed its caress on his face; shielded his eyes from the sun with a hand so he could take in the perfect blue of the summer sky.

“Looks like the roses have bloomed splendidly.”

Jongin’s smile grew as he turned around, happiness overflowing as Sehun approached him while admiring the flowers.

“Aren’t you two days early?”

“True, but we finished negotiations early, so there was no need to stay longer. Besides, I was impatient to see how the roses would look when they bloomed. I did say in the letter I was coming back during the summer.” Sehun drew Jongin close once he was within arm’s reach. Jongin fell easily in his embrace; sighed in bliss at the arms enclosing around him. “I missed you,” he murmured against the crown of Jongin’s head. “Traveling is good. I get to see more of the world and meet different types of people; but nothing compares to coming back home.”

Jongin smiled into his shoulder. “Welcome home.”

Their reunion was short-lived, assorted duties separating them until dinner. Later that evening, Jongin drew a bath, and together they soaked in the warm water filling the bathtub. The same bathtub where Jongin had spent his siren days. They scrubbed themselves clean, then Sehun leaned his back against Jongin’s chest as he talked about his travels: people he interacted with, places he’d seen, food he tasted and wished he could take back for him to taste, numerous other wonders small and big.

Jongin listened to Sehun with rapt attention, further affirming he had made the right choice appointing Sehun as a diplomat and trader. Sehun’s grandfather, whom Jongin had the pleasure of meeting and treated like his own kin, had once been a merchant before old age forced him to retire and take on the fishing life. He knew all the trade routes by water or land, which towns and cities produced what. Sehun had not been confident taking up the task, at first, even with the provided education required of fulfilling the roles. Through Jongin’s convincing and support did he steadily gain confidence; showed vast improvement through repeated exposure, bounced back from his mistakes if any were committed and learned from them.

Sehun might not admit it openly, but Jongin sensed he must’ve agreed to accept his new posts due to the large possibility of running into his father. As they got to know each other better through the years, Jongin learned Sehun’s father sailed away from home often, and he thought him a merchant like his grandfather until the rude awakening of discovering he was part of a pirate crew. Sehun wasn’t sure if his father was alive or dead at this point, having not heard from him in forever since the passing of his mother. Perhaps he wanted closure of why he never returned to his family; perhaps there were other loose ends he might want settled, so Jongin encouraged Sehun to take on the occupation that would have him set foot on a ship and sail across the seas.

Sehun’s mother, on the other hand, was a simple homemaker—or so he innocently thought, until he started sensing lurking presences in their house he could not see but was aware of their watchful eyes. Sehun’s mother _could_ see them and knew how to get rid of the malevolent ones so the kind spirits stayed. Sehun learned what the word _witch_ meant at an early age, and Jongin was surprised by his admission that the only reason he might have heard his voice in his siren state years back was because of the latent powers inherited from his mother. Sehun was not as powerful as his mother, but he could sense otherworldly presences and establish communication in some way; banish them if necessary. Yet if given the choice, Sehun would prefer not to use these powers, their existence a bitter reminder of the heavy scrutiny his mother had undergone—and him, by extension—until the rumors and gossip got out of hand and she was killed by accident from fear of being hexed.

The downside of Sehun working as a diplomat and trader was living apart for a month a few times a year, sometimes two if traveling took longer due to weather conditions. Thankfully, Chungha the Raconteur—now more popularly known as Chungha the Mighty after her own coronation as queen—always guided them on their journey and provided protection from rough weather and rougher waves at sea. A token of her immense gratitude for helping her gain back her throne and kingdom. Jongin never regretted pushing for a sea-land alliance, one that would ensure the citizens of his kingdom would respect the sea and its sirens; to not fear them, and to not do harm unto them. In return, Chungha would prevent shipwrecks and save drowning people, gave fishermen abundant catch, and to not take away humans unsuspecting.

“I have brought back with me several books,” Sehun said, cutting through Jongin’s thoughts. He sounded proud and excited about this. “I think you might like them. It’s penned by a writer hailing from a city in the far north. Mystery is his genre, they say.”

“You can read one of them to me later,” Jongin said. “For now, it’s my turn.” He handed Sehun a bar of soap.

They switched positions; then, Jongin reveled in Sehun’s fingers washing his hair. Jongin never kept his hair too long, having the pleasure of scissors going through them whenever he pleased now. Sehun lamented he could not tie his hair for him anymore. The leather barrette was still safely stored in a treasure box in his dresser cabinet, even if he doubted he would use it again. It didn’t mean he didn’t treasure Sehun’s first ever present to him.

Choosing a book and reading two chapters was a developed habit never removed from their nighttime routines. Sehun was usually the one who read aloud between them while Jongin sat across him on the bed listening. Nighttime reading was how Sehun improved his literacy and expanded his vocabulary in the past years. It became a secret source of joy for Jongin to witness his progress, from stumbling over his syllables when he was unsure of how to say certain words, to now effortlessly pronouncing everything with the flair of an aristocrat. It was fascinating to watch Sehun’s expressions change depending on the mood of the current chapter. More fascinating was his voice, one Jongin could listen to for a long time, wondering how he managed to survive on those long, cold nights by himself without hearing it now that he was here right in front of him.

A tap to his forehead brought Jongin out of his daze.

“I don’t think you’re listening to me anymore,” came Sehun’s gentle teasing. "Perhaps we should retire for the night. You seem tired. Coronation is near. The preparations for it must be exhausting you."

“I doubt I can sleep right away. I _am_ worried about the coronation, but my happiness for your return is far greater than my exhaustion,” Jongin said, taking Sehun’s hands and placing them on his cheeks. “I do not think you know the extent of how much I missed you.”

Sehun gave him a smile, happiness and something mischievous twinkling in his eyes. His thumbs caressed Jongin’s cheeks. “I have an idea, but it probably does not amount to how much _I_ missed _you_.”

Jongin tasted his own longing on Sehun’s lips from the months spent apart, unhurried in reintroducing themselves with each other’s taste. His hands clutched at the material of Sehun’s nightshirt, unsure if he was drawing him closer or anchoring himself. A heartbeat passed for the kiss to deepen; another, for hands to begin wandering, for touches to lose their innocent intent.

Desire was the compass that guided them to divest each other of their sleepwear; for Jongin’s lips to sketch the ridges of Sehun’s chest and abdomen, and to lie on the space between his spread thighs. The tip of Sehun’s cock glistened with the evidence of his arousal, and Jongin caught a tiny drop with his tongue before teasing with a soft kiss. Jongin parted his lips, letting the head push into his mouth; took the rest of Sehun in a slow, measured descent. He was eager to please him in the way he knew best; the way no one else could, pulling out moans and words of encouragement in his pursuit of giving him pleasure.

Desire consumed Jongin in the way Sehun worked him open with slick, skilled fingers, teasing but meticulous, coaxing out moans and sighs of his name. The world slowed to a crawl once Sehun claimed him, plunging and retreating in measured strokes. Jongin drew him into a deep kiss, sucking his tongue in an imitation of the same languid rhythm Sehun used to stroke into his body. Foreheads pressed together, they found the pace that had Jongin gasping in delight; angles that clawed small whines out of his throat. Before long, the demands of Sehun’s body grew harsher, coordination abandoned. Jongin’s hips responded to his needs, clinging to his shoulders, welcoming him deeper.

Months of longing exploded in a single, violent moment of ecstasy, replicated over and over through the night. Once the blazing fire of desire cooled on their damp bodies, limbs loose and heavy around each other, Jongin draped his body over Sehun’s, eyes getting heavy. Sehun was lazily stroking his damp hair, holding him close. Around the third time he tried to keep his eyes open, Sehun’s words helped keep him awake for a few more moments.

“You will make an excellent king,” Sehun said, and in his voice was pride and trust, both unwavering. “You are loved by the people and have their blessings. You are perpetually learning to improve. You are destined to be a ruler. You have nothing to fear.”

Jongin said nothing but smiled, snuggling closer. Sometimes it seemed like Sehun’s uncanny ability to know what was on his mind without having it spoken was unreal, yet he kept proving him wrong time and time again.

Sehun held Jongin’s hand, the one on his chest, and pressed a kiss to his fingertips. “And I wish to be there to see you grow as a king, and as a person; to stay by your side until the end.”

“I would not want it any other way,” Jongin said, once he found his voice to speak. His eyes were not cooperating anymore, closing by themselves, though his mind was awake. “We are bound, you and I. Once I am crowned, and everyone else in the world will only see me as a king, I want you to remind me of who I am. See me for who I truly am. Before I am a king and a ruler, I am a man named Jongin who wishes to spend his days happily.”

“Of course,” came Sehun’s easy agreement, holding him tighter against him. “I swear unto you.”

Merely a few words, but Jongin already felt wholly comforted.

His heart was at ease, mind prepared as he knelt before the head councilor after swearing an oath. The crown on his head was heavy with its ornaments and jewelry, and his full regalia for this special day made him feel too warm inside the throne room, but Jongin had never felt lighter as he greeted the masses on his first day as king, their passionate support keeping the smile on his face.

Jongin had never felt lighter when he felt a hand hold his, fingers intertwining, the shape of them familiar and home; a gesture that gave him added strength and confidence to withstand whatever challenges he would face from now on. He looked at Sehun, dressed in exquisite silk and muslin, smile on his face and adoration in his eyes.  


And truly they lived happily ever after for the rest of their days, in their modest kingdom by the sea.

**fin.**

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/mindstormfury/)! [Curious Cat](https://curiouscat.me/propinquity) is also an option if you're shy.


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